Our Winter Hearts
by Rdk3
Summary: Wolves howl in the night as Winter approaches. Amidst the chaos nursed by the War of Five Kings, Sansa Stark and Jon Snow fight to take back the North and recover their family. As the nights grow darker there must be a Stark in Winterfell once more.
1. SANSA

**DISCLAIMER: i DON'T OWN GAME OF THRONE OR THE SONG OF ICE AND FIRE... THIS IS PURELY A WORK MADE FOR FUN.**

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 **OUR WINTER HEARTS**

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 **SANSA**

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The trees of the woods were dark against the white and atop, in the skies above, the night ruled everything in beautiful shades of blue, of stars and moon and white grounds.

The world, she knew, sometimes would try to look pretty, try to seem magical or even peaceful, but as her horse trotted the way towards the top of the hill, she knew, deep inside, that it was a lie, a beautiful lie for sure, sweet and tempting, but a lie all the same.

She had fallen for that lie once.

Her younger dreams had been raised by it, guided by Old Nan's tales of heroism, the Last Hero riding forth against the Long Night, Symeon Star-Eyes and Jonquil and Florian and for the first time, the heroes enchanted her. Once she learned her letters, she started to seek the books as well and read the real stories of great knights and their loves. Of great maids rescued and kissed under glorious banners and colors and songs.

She read about all of them, in between her lessons of heraldry, history, and courtesy there were the dragons, and great names like Eryk and Aryk, Ser Arthur Dayne, Aemon the Dragonknight, and his love for his sister Naerys who was made to marry Aegon the Unworthy.

Mostly sad songs, but sad in a way of beauty.

Her own sadness had none of that, at least it felt nothing like that.

Of course, she had been driven by other songs, songs of courts, gallantry, and knighthood. Songs of love and great glory and as she learned from Septa Mordane how to be a wife and a lady, she dreamed of her husband and her future. When Joffrey came, he was beautiful in her eyes as a prince, a true prince, taking her to be his queen. She would ride with him and they would rule together, and she would give him many male heirs and make him happy.

She wanted love and colors and summer winds touching her skin, and she would ride away in the trails of love and blossoming passion, where everything was beautiful and pretty and good.

Those southern dreams had a cost though.

How ironic that her deepest wish now was going as far north as possible as fast as she could?

 _Jon…_

The name was an old hymn, a hope and a prayer all at once as Sansa stopped her tired mount atop the hill. She was afraid, she was tired, she wanted to cry in relief and sob in despair, but she couldn't do any of those or else she would be lost.

By her side she could hear another horse coming, Brienne's horse, for her safety, the woman had told her.

 _Save him…_

She could still hear Bran's voice in her head as the woods parted and closed, and parted and the snow was crushed under the roofs of her mount.

She had been only seeking Theon out, talking to him to see where he wanted to go from now, but instead, she found him laughing and mumbling before a lonely weirwood tree. She feared he had grown crazy then, that Ramsay had finally broken him and just when he was free, but his mumbles turned to words and she heard him madly calling her brother's name.

From there everything felt like a blur.

Her brother's face was suddenly there in the pale wood, crying red tears from three eyes deep with knowledge and anger and longing.

 _Sansa…_ He had whispered, like the rustling of leaves, soft as the wind. _Jon… save him_. And then it was as if she saw him, her brother, the half brother, the one she had never truly known beyond the sullen brooding lad. Her brother and her family, the family she felt distant and lost like a hole in her life, a pity increasing in depth and sorrow and despair, and there he was, bleeding in the snow.

 _Ghost._

He whispered to the skies.

 _Save him_. Bran urged one last time before she woke up to Brienne's desperate calls shaking her shoulders, and she realized it was a dream just as the dream became more and more real and Bran called to her faintly still. Instead of assuring the lady she was fine and well, instead of asking water for her dry throat, she spoke loud and clear with the shock fresh in her mind.

"I have to reach Castle Black now."

It took her some time to finally convince them she was serious in her haste. There was no argument, she knew that dream couldn't be a lie, it couldn't because Theon was looking at her knowingly and Sansa felt it.

A pain similar to when Lady left her forever, something been cut from her like all the times she felt herself losing a part of her family. Her Father, her mother, brother… Her name… It was too much, but now, now she could save him.

 _Jon…_

Thinking of him still made her jerk and a cold hand to grip her heart, but she kept going. Brienne would only allow her to go with protection, so she left Theon and Podrick behind and they now rode until finally seeing the Wall before them, its pale shape massive, almost taking Sansa's breath away in the darkness. It was the hour of the wolf but the Wall was still a sight, disappearing in the shadows on both horizons of the world like a pale cold blade piercing the darkness, and on its feet, a faint orange glow burned.

 _Fire._

Sansa blinked back tears and spurred her horse forward.

For a long time she had thought of vengeance, of justice for her family. For all the death and tragedy and pain she suffered, from the day's cage in which she found herself back in King's Landing to the nightly horrors that Ramsay had put her through, but now. Now she felt hope, hope because she could do something more, she wouldn't be alone, she had to save him…

 _Jon._

He was the first, she would have him, she would… _Please wait a little longer, please._

Her body hurt all over from bruises old and new, her legs were cramped, her back was killing her but Sansa, who never liked riding, raced down the hill, hearing the screams of sentries as her horse stopped before the gates, panting and ruffling on its feet.

"Let me in!" She yelled, feeling like tears were coming down her eyes, the glow was still there above the walls.

 _Save him._

She would.

The gates opened slowly, too slowly, and Sansa stepped forward immediately, ignoring the bearded face beside her. Another man tried to grab her, but Brienne was there, shoving him aside as she ran into the courtyard only to gasp at the sight.

There was fire.

A massive crowd with torches was gathered around a pile of firewood that was catching fire slowly, their gazes meeting her, but her blues eyes had only one thing in mind. One thing only. _Save him_ , Bran had said and she felt her world breaking yet again.

He was there, his body, lying above the pyre, smoke already rising as the fire caught. _No, no, no… It's not, It's not… Jon…_

She pushed forward, Brienne at her side, pulling her cloak away, blue wool and warm.

"Wait!" Someone tried to stop her, but them a huge white form stepped forward, barring teeth with red eyes blazing. Her hands grabbed Jon's arm and pulled, he had to get away, away from the fire. Please, she pulled again and he moved but just a little, and then Brienne was there, and she was stronger, taking him away from the fire and down to the snow.

"Jon!" She gasped. "Jon! Please!"

Hot tears were burning down her eyes as she stared at him, pale, eyes closed. _No, no, no, no… Please no…_ She begged, not sure to whom. She felt eyes and shadows around, a bearded man and a red woman, a dull looking one in black and another one, big and ragged. "Stay away from my family!" She said, hearing another bare of teeth.

Ghost, he was there, he was there and he would help her.

The wolf met her eyes and his were red and knowing. Suddenly he was by her side and she felt herself breaking into a sob that was half a laugh for everything was pain, everything hurt, her world was gone but not anymore. _Please… Just hang on…_ She thought, looking down at him, she brushed the hair away from his face.

 _Jon._

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 **AN: Well this Got story has been in the works for some time now, i hesitated to publish before because it has a sort of similar start to another Got fanfic called Winter is Coming: The Winter Queen and the Black Dragon by Ralph E. Silvering... It is a great fanfic by the way and you should totally check it out. My story though it begins in a similar way it goes to different roads and, at least to start, it is a rewriting of season 6... advancing into season seven territory and beyond.**

 **If anyone here, also goes to my story Digimon Brave Hearts, I'm glad to tell I'll start publishing again at the launch of the next Digimon Tri movie... XD**


	2. THE DEAD WOLF

**THE DEAD WOLF**

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 _Ghost._

He was in darkness.

In a moment he felt the life draining from him as his last breaths clung to the shreds that kept his conscience alight, the skies seemed to gaze down upon him. The eyes of the Ice Dragon were like blue fire piercing the clouded sky until a cloak of shadows seemed to fall over his vision.

It could well have been the blink of an eye or an eternity, and he wouldn't have known. There was only him and nothing, and darkness, caring like a mother's hug, taking the weight of the world off his shoulders.

The shadows made everything okay. So he let himself there, listening to muffle songs of dead pasts, he was cozy and they were sending him to sleep.

 _Next time I see you, you will be all in black._

 _Next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother…_

Laughter echoed from all around him, breathless with childhood dreams, entangled into stone walls proper for climbing and wooden swords, playful and safe.

 _Stick them with the pointy end._

Suddenly he felt like crying, but he knew nothing of how to do it. Tears would not come, the darkness was not soothing anymore, instead, it felt like a prison and the sounds of a distant feast were far away and close, just beyond a door, yet when his hand reached out to open it, it came back burning cold.

 _For the Watch._

He saw their faces, felt again the bite of cold steel plunging into his body, repeating their chant. _For the Watch_ , they claimed and the pain in his heart was only ended by the dagger that found it, but then the stabs never ceased, they never stopped, they kept going and he cried out.

 _You have to fight._

The darkness left him in a storm of red and white, of blood and bone and soft whispered pleas from more than one voice.

He smelled woods, and snow and meat and tears in the air, he was warm and hungry and in pain, but he watched on as the one with red hair, the sweet one, cradled the one he was bonded with, asking for help in harsh despair. Towers of black rose at their sides and disappeared in a storm of white.

 _I'm not a Stark._

His paws were firm and steady upon the ice, he could smell the apprehension and hesitation of the men all around him, but none there dared to go against her, none there dared to speak, hopes and fears made them living stone, and only the red one worked with strength from the heart.

 _My father used to say that there is no shame in fear, only in how we face it._

He saw faces, faces he thought long gone and that he aimed to forget.

 _Why do you imagine that they need your help? Are you such a mighty warrior, or do you carry a_ grumkin _in your pocket to magic up your sword?_

He disappeared just as he came, his crow chanting. _"Corn!Corn!Corn!"_

Next came a deep voice, speaking from over a fire.

 _We can only die. Why else do we don these black cloaks, but to die in defense of the realm?_

He was right, he thought. He died in defense of the realm, realms of men. That was all he could've hoped for.

 _We should have stayed in that cave Jon Snow_

Her fire flared and disappeared as suddenly as a summer rain and his fingers were left to trail wisps of ashes turning to snow, white snow, cold. _Winter is Coming_. He saw their faces like dreams, and their names were like a prayer.

The Old Bear, Qhorin Halfhand, Donal Noye, Ser Aliser, Stannis, Pyp, Green, Ygritte…. Father, Robb, Lady Catelyn, Bran, Rickon and Sansa and Arya.

The forest opened, and he felt the chill in the air and the eyes of the trees, but they were friendly and sad and they wanted to help. They seemed to have all the same faces though, a face that was familiar and it stirred something in his heart. _He loved to climb_ , he thought, as the people spread around, and the red one kneeled by his side, the other one, the one that was only red and nothing else asked and whispered the sounds they used to say things he never had to.

Around them the wind sang and leaves danced.

 _No_. He thought in sudden panic, feeling the pull, the darkness was moving away. _No!_ He cried, he didn't want to. To go back, to go back was to suffer, was the weight of the world, of grief of guilty. He was at peace and he felt everything coming back to him, blue eyes that never wanted him there…

 _I'm only a bastard._

But a voice was singing, a soft plea, pulling him back.

"… ber home? Winterfell? Everyone there? Do you remember? It's our home, please, come back to me Jon. Remember the grey walls and the great towers, the people and the godswood with the big weirwood? Remember our family? Robb, he would fight you in the courtyard and you were always close, remember him? And Bran and Rickon laughing and throwing snowballs? And Arya? I know you must remember her, always d-dirty a-and… They are out there… They are out there and I'm here… I don't know if I'm who you wanted, but I hope you give me a chance. Please, Jon…"

 _Jon… My name is Jon._

He saw her cradling him, his vision changing, he bent his head back and howled into the sky, the howl of a Ghost, and himself and he felt the soft voice stopping with a gasp, before her hand came to the chest of the man on her lap and he felt it there, soft fingers, and the tears falling from her eyes burned, as warm as the smoke of her breath.

The memories flooded him like the warmth of a snowball fight amongst summer snows and the laughter of Winterfell's people… Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. _Kill the boy and let the man be born_. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon's breathless laughter. _You know nothing, Jon Snow_. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest.

 _I'm not afraid to die._

 _Nor live, I hope._ Mormont said, cutting his ham with a dagger

He remembered of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself, and suddenly he was not a wolf anymore, there was no more shelter, but she was really there, and he found her eyes, blue and deep, blazing with life and fresh tears.

Jon Snow blinked in wonder, hearing her gasp clear in the night, his name a soft whisper on her lips as her arms embraced him, and his hands felt her frame as if on their own.

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 **Hope everyone enjoyed this short beginning, please red and review. XD**


	3. SANSA II

**SANSA**

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"My Lady, you don't have to see this" Brienne whispered at her side. Her knight, for everything she still tried to protect her, even if it was from something like a gruesome sight, but the woman couldn't know that she had seen the worst of executions already, the one of a loved one. This, well this was more of a duty than anything else, even as more arguments came forward from her protector. "We rode two days straight to get here, and then you went beyond the wall and back. My lady, you're exhausted, I'm sure your brother would have you resting right now."

The soft reminder made Sansa take in the sight of him, standing beside the block at the center of the yard, clad all in black, still wearing the bloodied doublet he had died in, except he was well alive and strong with naked steel in his hands. She wondered what was going through his head then, but every guess made her worry even more, getting her through her fatigue.

She remembered watching him all the way until they passed the gates under the Wall, and how he changed then. She had heard the whispers around them already, talks of wargs, of gods and dead men with blue eyes, but she cared not for any of it. Only the way his voice hardened when speaking with his men, giving orders so the prisoners and a chopping block were fetched.

"I'll stay here" She told Brienne as the first prisoner was brought forth. "I have to."

The prisoners were all in chains, stripped to barely any clothing in the cutting cold from the Wall. She could see that some had been beaten, baring split lips and yellowish bruises upon their faces. _These people tried to take him from me. They stabbed him and left him in the cold to die, they deserve this._ She knew nothing of those men, but still, Sansa was overcome by a surprising sense of pity at the sight.

"That one is Bowen Marsh" The lad by her side, a young one called Satin, whispered as the first prisoner approached the block, long haired and bearded, she could see the man had a deep scar crossing his face.

"You shouldn't be alive…" The man ranted on and Sansa clutched her hands together at his words. Shortly after, Sansa saw the man called Edd and another one dropped the culprit to his knees.

Long ago, Sansa couldn't remember ever been called upon by Lord Eddard to watch an execution, and yet at one point she had witnessed one anyway when a man was executed in Winterfell for the crimes of rape and murder. Her father had stood there resolutely, hearing the man speak before lifting his greatsword.

Ice took the man's head in one swift stroke.

 _Jon looks like him_ , she thinks now with a pang of something squirming inside her chest. She had never been sure of what Lord Eddard's ways really meant when she was younger. The Old Way that always had her father retreating to the Godswood after killing, when it could have been much easier to use executioners, but Sansa had seen what executioners did, she had seen the cold eyes of men calling for the death of others, never having to bear the steel.

Othel Warwick died after pleading for word to be sent to his wife. Sansa wondered what kind of woman that might be, and if she thought of this man often… And then Ser Alliser Thorne was there. The knight was in pain it seemed and, when he spoke, his voice carried through the courtyard and resounded on the Wall and back, taking the any possible warmth with it.

"I had a choice, Lord Commander, betray you, or betray the Night's Watch. You brought an army of wildlings into our lands, an army of murderers and rapists." Sansa didn't look away. _Was it true?_ She wondered, but in her eyes, there were only men and women around her. Warriors like many she had known. Once, wildlings like these even saved her from Joffrey, even if they were under orders themselves. If appearances could say anything at all, Sansa had learned not to trust them. "I fought, now I rest… But you, Lord Snow, you'll be fighting their battles forever."

Jon took the man's head and Sansa thought she saw his hands shaking.

When the deed was done, her brother just stood there, his grey eyes held none of the softness from before, none of the warmth and longing and eagerness as he rose from death and whispered her name under the moon and cold night. Instead, they were void, staring at the snow slowly drinking the blood.

"Burn the bodies." He said in an empty raspy voice as he turned away from the scene, Ghost at his side. The crowd parted to let him through. Wildlings and men of the Watch alike, bowing and fearing his passage.

She watched the man that Jon had become walking away stiffly, trying to compare him to that boy she grew up with, a boy who was silent and solemn, who shared lessons with Robb and smirked at their little sister for almost any reason. She compared him to the thoughts that plagued her for a long time, from the point she learned of his status at the Wall. The man she saw walking away now scared her some. _The world is built by killers…_ The Hound seemed to whisper in her ears.

Learning what a bastard meant for her family and for her mother most of all, Sansa had quickly learned to be distant from him. Trying to please her mother, to make her maybe happier amidst the shame she endured. It was only proper after all. He was her half-brother and that was all, she was courteous to him, polite, but never warm and never caring as she had been with Robb. She offered words, polite smiles but never hugs or laughs… How could she do anything else?

She could still remember how afraid she was when the Red Woman had kissed him and the trees seemed to move, how she cradled his body in the snow, begging whatever gods were out there to make it true that she could save him, that she could bring him back and as her soul was sinking yet again in that dark empty pit that became her life, losing everything again and again she found herself wishing for home.

And she had spoken of Winterfell. Not the castle dominated by Boltons, but its people, of the names she remembered and the names she wishes to say again. She whispered of their siblings, and how they were alive out there, and how they could find them while having her thoughts swirling with promises…

And Jon had woken up under the howl of a white direwolf.

His grey eyes meet hers, dark gray, Stark gray, and her fingers were suddenly fists as he had locked gazes with her. It was a dream, she had feared. Maybe it wasn't real, maybe she would wake up soon to a horrible life, but he was blinking, staring, and Sansa had seen he was also confused and afraid, and suddenly her arms were around him.

She had shaken suddenly, breathing a sob in relief. He smelt of pine and oak and melted snow, nothing of death. His arms were at some point around her and she could feel his heart beating against her chest, his own breath against her neck, strong, alive. And she was alive as well, feeling it for the first time in years, out of the pit and finally at home.

She wouldn't let this go.

She couldn't…

Now as she saw him walking away into the shadow of some dark corner, Sansa remembered how Mother would sometimes seek Father in the Godswood, or, sometimes wait for his return at the entrance, hands clasped before her navel, chin high and eyes twinkling. There was no Godswood at the Wall though. _But I'm here…_ Sansa thought. _I'm here, we're not alone any longer._

"You don't need to guard me for the day Brienne." She said softly to the woman, not waiting for a reply as she took small steps through the snow. Her legs were stiff and hurting, her mind felt muddled, and she could still feel the stinging pain of bruises and cuts that never properly healed but she couldn't sleep yet, not after seeing him walking away like that.

She ignored the men around her, shaggy men, bearded men, men with fiery hearts and men in black and wildlings, some were women, all staring, working, going on with their day to trade whispers of the man that came back to life and maybe of her as well, but Sansa cared not for them at the moment. She stepped around the pile of firewood, and made her way after him, following the ghost of his steps to the room behind the armory.

When she stopped before the door, she was suddenly afraid of what she would find inside. Would it be a vengeful man fuming over betrayal or perhaps a cold lord brooding over who else might be against him? _Jon is not like that_ , she told herself remembering the lad from her childhood. _He is not a killer…_

Opening the door she walked inside and stopped at the sight that greeted her.

Blinking, Sansa took her time to look at him, idly feeling Ghost brushing past her. She was confused and afraid as they were left alone, wondering why the direwolf wouldn't stay with Jon for he clearly needed him, but the wolf was already gone.

Gulping to herself Sansa closed the door, the sound unnerving and loud.

Her sight traveled through the small quarters slowly, buying time. She had thought the Lord Commander's place would be larger, but these were simple quarters and small. There was a table sitting by a closed window and his jerkin was there, still covered in blood. His sword was also bloodied, leaning against the wall, neglected and lonely…

That boy from Winterfell had always been quiet, careful and courteous around her, even if he fumbled a little. This was a man, a commander that had just executed his supposed brothers.

 _How do I fix this?_ She wondered now desperately. _Robb would know what to do…_ The guilt stabbed her. _Arya surely would be hugging him now, telling him to stop being stupid. Bran and Rickon would obviously be able to cheer him up. You're just a stupid girl who knows nothing. He probably is starting to regret ever seeing you. He probably wishes you were somebody else._ Her gaze traveled from his face to his chest where she could see the stab wounds clearly in the open, the shadows burned there under the firelight. _Yet… I'm here…_

"Jon" She gasped watching the stiff posture, the trembling hands. _He is as broken as I feel._ She realized and then _. I have to be strong now, one more time._

Her approach was a slow one and Sansa felt herself floating in a daze until she came to stand before her brother. Her hands seemed to move as if on their own accord brushing the wound over his heart lightly, smearing her fingertips with the blood. The way he jerked back at the movement didn't escape her notice.

"Does it hurt?" Her question was but the soft brushing of a skirt on snowy grounds, and he shook his head slowly. Her hands moved again and she kept her eyes on his, pulling him into her arms in a silent hug. _Please be better_. She wished, brushing the hair atop his head lightly, bringing his face down. _Please._

That was when something seemed to break inside her brother.

In no time he was sobbing in her arms and her shoulder was soaking in tears, but Sansa didn't pull away until he stoped, wishing to take all that grief, all that anger, all that pain that consumed her own heart too many times.

Once upon a time she had wondered on how sweet it would be to see him again, a piece of her family. Holding him as she shed her own tears unbound by survival, lies, and danger, listening and feeling him calming down, was even sweeter.

There was nothing there but love, and longing and something she might be reflecting back, of someone who's been alone for a long time. But they were not, she wouldn't allow him to leave her, not now. He was family, he was what she was seeking all these years, and Sansa allowed herself to bask in these emotions until a new realization hit her that had an old unused burst coming from her guts, and she giggled uncontrollably, and suddenly the tears she felt running down her cheeks didn't matter, her heart beat freely and she laughed harder.

"What is so funny?" He asked, befuddled in a muffled raspy voice.

"You… You're so… So short." She said amused as he blinked in confusion, and then a full grin split his face and his laughter is sudden and true, pouring warmth into her chest.


	4. RED WOMAN

**RED WOMAN**

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She sought the fires again, but much like before there were no answers there to be found.

She had hoped, she had believed, truly, from the deepest corner of her inner fire that she had found the Lord's chosen, but in the face of failure that could not be, and still the vision was the same. A dying scream and salvation, and she knew what it enticed.

True victory could only come with sacrifice, for in life there was a cost for everything. Courage took great fear, power took hard work and strength inevitably took suffering and yet, when Stannis Baratheon heard the dying scream of his daughter, no salvation came, only doom. To see the mistakes blossoming in front of her had been hard, a blow that still seemed too violent to get up from, and her whole life felt suddenly fragile and meaningless like another dissolving ash.

 _Melody…_ She heard, seeming long ago. _Lot Seven…_

Brushing away those memories she sought for more, one last guide, one last glimpse, but nothing came, she only had Snow and the barest shred of faith.

It was truly lost.

And she was lost in herself. All the death, all the pain, all the blood of the certainty was suddenly crashed and burned. The world was doomed, and maybe it would be her fault, her righteous punishment for her error. She had resigned herself to one last act of seeing to the dead commander's pyre, watching the procedures besides Lord Davos, a man whom she dared offer nothing but silence since her return.

But that girl had arrived, and her voice had cut through the flickering fire, her steps getting through the crowd and erasing the flames in haste, followed by the large woman and the wolf. The White beast. Not even her own charm seemed able to command him then as she yelled and cursed and cradled the body of Jon Snow. Melisandre had almost trembled when the girl seemed to be blinking, staring at nothing as if listening to a distant whisper, before turning in her direction. Sansa Stark's words had been cold and harsh.

"You'll save him!"

They had dragged him beyond the Wall then, something the girl was adamant in doing, despite protests, but the wolf and the woman in mail were by her side, and Davos Seaworth spoke of her magic hesitantly, like the man he was, still afraid, believing his seven, but acknowledging her power.

More unwillingly that she would like to admit, she went with them, to those cold lands, meeting in a place where she felt the great darkness stronger than it ever could be. She could feel the eyes then, the thralls and tendrils of the enemy, but her warnings were ignored. Instead of burning those trees as she uncertainly urged, she was asked to give him the kiss, and she did.

Mumbling the words, and breathing fire, only to be met by silence.

 _Melody… Lot Seven._

It seemed to be clearer then, as the night grew darker. The hour of the wolf was upon them, Jon Snow was still dead and the girl was crying. Out of respect and with an ounce of curiosity Melisandre had stepped back then. Turning around, she could see the faces, the tree demons those northerners worshiped, the bark pale as bone. Surely something so cold was not meant to be good.

Her hand had briefly covered one of the solemn carved faces, curiously wondering if their sacrifice would be enough to rectify her failure when the stung hit her like a prickle of a needle, leaving a small trail of blood upon the white. The winds had risen then, she could hear the darkness growing and her energy had bristled in anticipation, but instead of danger and the thralls of the enemy the silence was met only by the girl's gentle whispers, breaking in the first breath of a dead man.

At that moment she had hesitated. Her faith had been rekindled, reined back by cold harsh fear. She had always wondered that surely the Lord had brought her here, to this Wall, for a reason, and as Jon Snow came back to life, she thought the reason might be clear. She saw the two embracing each other on the snow, seeming to be there for a long time as the wildlings and black brothers stared aghast. She had waited until the two rose to their feet, Jon Snow's steps uncertain and failing before Davos Seaworth stepped forward to help with the big woman in toll. Together they carried Jon Snow between then, his breaths ragged as if he needed to learn how to breathe again.

"It's okay Jon, everything will be okay now" Sansa Stark was saying as she met then in desperate steps.

"What did you see?" She asked those grey eyes, they were not red like the dead man she found in the Riverlands, neither they were blue like the enemies', but grey like before.

"Leave him be." The Stark girl said, urging her aside, and her question went unanswered except for Lord Davos' glare. The travel back had been a silent one, only broken by the hooves of the horses as they came close to the wall. Torches and dragonglass riding beside their small column until the breaking of dawn.

 _It was meant to be_ , she thought, holding back her eagerness. Her faith had been broken to pieces, but now it was back. Stannis had been a mistake, but Snow might not. She should be careful, for there were heathen forces at work out there as well. This North was wild, but maybe she could guide him to the light. Surely he must see his purpose was a greater one, surely this experience would convince him.

So she came here to her chambers, alone, and she looked into the fires.

But the fires held nothing but light, and what might come remained a mystery. Nothing more was offered, and maybe it was only fair considering her misgivings. _Maybe the Lord himself doesn't see my worth any longer_. There was no space in her soul to consider that for long though, the final battle would come and her power was her armor and her sword. Her faith had to be strong if mankind was to stand a chance and for that she would keep going. She was still trying when the clearing of a throat startled her and she spun around, finding Lord Davos staring at her from the door, his brow furrowed, watching her.

"What is it?"

"I won't let you do to him what you did to Stannis" He said severely, the implication settling the air between them. Tense and still, she felt the fight approaching, and rose to her feet. _This one will never understand._

"He is special, you must know that now…"

"Just like Stannis was?" He questioned, the words cutting through her, but her face remained calm. "I saw the way you were looking at him out there, I saw it. It's the same look you gave to my king, my lady, and I won't let you destroy that lad as well."

"I never destroyed anyone Lord Davos, I merely guided them to the light."

"Is that what you call it?" His voice held a heavy tone of loathing; she saw his fingers seeking the bag on his chest, only to find nothing. "What happened at that camp?" She stood in silence, knowing he would not remember the torch she left for him in the dungeons or the son she convinced the king to leave behind in Dragonstone, her deeds would find only punishment, not recognition.

"This country was your king's enemy, Lord Davos, not I."

"Please elaborate on that" He gritted his teeth, but then he shook his head, his fists were clenched. "Elaborate on that my lady, please do tell me, what happened to my king? What happened to Stannis? What happened to Princess Shireen?!"

His voice hit her like a whip.

 _Melody._

Her heart was beating faster, strong in a body that shouldn't sustain life and health any longer. It was the dying scream announcing salvation, it was all she had, the only certainty, it had been wrong. _The price would be worthy had it been right, but, Lord forgive me, the girl died and there was only doom._

"His men lost heart Lord Davos, in face of the price"

"The price…" She saw the thought working in the man's eyes, his accusations coming forward now, finally finding the light as he came to conclusions of his own, conclusions that might be just right. "You… You…"

"I told the king what the price would be and he accepted. He asked that of me and I obeyed."

"After you poisoned him!" He shouted in anger, his face was red as he stepped forward, his anger making her retreat. "Your words! Your God! Your sorcery! You murdered her!"

 _Lot Seven._

He towered, glaring at her, the raw anger of men as she had known in her time, she could feel her forces ready for an attack. She was not afraid. The threats to her were easy to see, the first things she learned to see. Even if her powers were weak, even if the Lord abandoned her, this she could trust and the fires showed nothing. _I won't die here_ , she thought with her last shred of faith.

"The blizzard was too strong, the Lord showed what needed to be done…"

"I loved that girl!" He screamed at her face, broken. "I loved her like she was my own! She was good, she was kind and you killed her!"

"So did her mother and so did her father." She threw back, seeing him flinch, none of them moved but she saw her words striking. "Her own blood knew it was the only way!"

"The only way for what? They all died anyway" Lord Davos seemed to beg to be proven wrong with sheer desperation. _Melody… Lot Seven…_ She gritted her teeth. "You told everyone Stannis was the one. You had him believe it, that he was the savior, that he would vanquish the darkness as the one true king, and you had all of them fooled… You lied…"

"I didn't lie!" She said shutting him up, she could feel his hands on either side of her face. _When did he corner me against the wall?_ She saw he was still staring with hate and despair, the cold stone of blame cast upon her, and its size was the one of a mountain. The words were hard to say, they got stuck in her throat, like a worm full of thorns and yet she forced them out, looking away. A broken whisper. "I was wrong"

"Aye… You were"

His hands wrapped around her, warm and terrible, pressing the necklace against her throat. _I won't beg_ , she thought, but she couldn't speak already, and the air was hard to come, it was like a hiss and her lungs burned with need as her vision blurred.

His eyes hated her, and cried.

 _Melody…_ She thought as darkness engulfed her, something cracked and bent. the distant whip of a slaver, the old muttering of a bidding crowd. _Lot Seven…_

 _I was wrong._

And suddenly she was falling.

* * *

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	5. JON

**JON**

* * *

His steps were clumsy or completely stiff, but he was a passable dancer or at least Jon liked to think himself as such. He knew the steps, knew the timing and even the song, but none of those things did anything to stop Greyjoy's snickering.

"Gods, Snow, you're stiff as a board." The ward said, cackling.

"Try to relax Jon" Robb called from where he was doing his own practice, with Beth Cassel beaming at the attention.

"I'm trying" He mumbled looking at Jeyne, who seemed to be forcing her smile. _She wants Robb_ , Jon thought with a sigh. There was nothing new there, who would want to be paired with the bastard when the heir was right there? By all means, he should be used to it, but when it came a part of the dance when he should walk, turn and come back, he suddenly slipped, almost tripping the girl. Jeyne's eyes glared and he felt his cheeks burning. "Sorry"

"Stop…" Her voice was sharp and the harp stopped playing. Robb and Beth stepped away, his brother seeming amusedly curious, while Sansa herself walked to him. Jon fumbled nervously on his feet, he loved his sister dearly even if she mostly ignored him, but he didn't like the idea of Lady Catelyn finding them in the small hall. "You know what Jon? They are right, you have to relax a little if you are to dance with anyone at the feast."

"I don't want to dance" Jon mumbled. There would be so many important lords there he wouldn't even have to, no one would see him at his place so far from the high table, but his sister wouldn't be thwarted.

"It will be my tenth name day Jon, and Father even asked for a singer from White Harbor. I want everyone to be perfect like it should be and everyone will have to ask for a dance with me. You're my half-brother and you have to dance properly" Saying that she took his hands and started humming the song. Her smile was captivating, assuring, sweet and admonishing in a way that told him doing this wrong was unacceptable. How she managed a smile like that he would never know… Resigned he started the old routine, been more careful this time, for he didn't want to sadden Sansa when she had been so excited for her feast, it didn't matter if he would sit with the family or not.

His worry was so great he had to look at his feet, suddenly conscious of his movements, but she would have none of that. "Look at me Jon." She told him and when he looked up she was still there, but the hall was gone, Robb, Jeyne, Beth and Theon were gone. There was only the two of them and her eyes of blue were suddenly crying. _Stop_ , he wanted to tell her, _I'm doing it right. Don't you see? I'm not tripping…_ But the eyes melted down, and her tears smoked around her cheeks.

She was cold in his hands and that is when he woke up.

The first coherent thought he managed was that he was on his bed, the second was that he was not alone. Blinking in the dim light, Jon looked to his side. He was almost startled thinking it was Ygritte and maybe they were in her furs, resting under the Halfhand's cloak. But this wasn't Ygritte. The hair was a shade darker and more alive, longer as well. She was disheveled and had smears on her face, but had high cheekbones and softness far from the spearwife.

 _She is real_ , Jon thought, looking at Sansa with increasing fascination.

He wanted to reach out and touch her just to be sure, to brush a thread of red hair away from her eyes, but he stilled himself and just watched, her body moving, rising and falling in pace with her breathing, seeming to tuck herself further under his old cloak. The movement made her move, and Jon felt her own arm draped over his chest.

He held his breath at the movement, realizing, at the same time, his own state of undress even if he was under the furs and she was not. Watching how her hand curled above the still open wounds, cold and gentle, gave him a gut-wrenching feeling, remembering what happened.

 _Gods, you're pathetic._ Jon thought, staring back at her, his heart was beating faster inside his chest, like something living. _Does that even make it real?_

For the Watch. They said.

 _Ghost…_ He whispered in one last pleading attempt.

The thought of daggers piercing his skin was not as bad as the righteous gaze those men sent him when it was time to execute them. A monster, a bastard, a turncloak… He might as well be all of them, and they wouldn't be wrong. Once he came inside his chambers to find the wounds still there, it crashed down that he might not even be human anymore.

The fear that was a burning ember became a roaring fire once she saw him, once he felt her hesitation and her lingering gaze upon the deadly wounds he suffered. _She will run. I finally found her again and she will run._

But his sister didn't run, she stayed and her arms and eyes were like ice extinguishing those shameful flames down to ash. Overwhelmed with guilt, dread and relief he had cried and sobbed like a child, something he hadn't done in a long time, and when he felt the bed on his back the darkness was already upon him.

And now here they were and that was surprising; she must have fallen asleep after him.

Now he suddenly caught himself thinking of the many situations where sharing a bed was common. As children even the bastard was allowed to be with his siblings when they huddled together to sleep in cold winter nights, Arya once in a while would sneak into his bed wanting comfort from nightmares, and brothers of the Watch would often share furs and sleep close in search for warmth beyond the Wall.

 _But we are not children and this should be improper._

Trying to get up without her knowledge Jon softly took her hand, guiding it gently away from him. She stirred a little and her brows furrowed lightly before relaxing again. He thought she had gone back to sleep, but her eyes opened all of the sudden, and Jon froze almost out of the bed.

Her eyes were blue, blazing, something he saw somewhere before, but couldn't place where exactly and they seemed fond to find him there for she smiled. "Jon"

"Sansa" He said. Gods, how long has it been since he could speak one of his siblings' names? He didn't know, but her name was like rushing water, not weaker than when he said it for the first time in the cold of the night.

"You seem better. I'm glad."

"I'm glad as well." He said in a reflex. "You can sleep, you must be exhausted."

"I didn't die." She said smirking and Jon blinked, feeling an amused chuckle bursting from his chest. He remembered that darkness pulling him with tendrils and claws, and pushed those memories away.

"No I suppose not, but riding through the night to rescue a dead man must be exhausting all the same."

"It certainly is." She closed her eyes, but he saw a small tinge of red coming to her cheeks as she snuggled on the pillow. Her eyes darted awake and she stared up at him and then at the bed. "S-Sorry for been here, but I was really tired and…" She looked away.

Feeling his own cheeks burning Jon offered her a stiff nod, before going for the spare tunic amongst his things. He fit the clothing quickly, fumbling with the sleeves before finally feeling comfortable inside his room again. He scanned the place around seeing the bloodied doublet still there above the table. Grimacing he looked around for his sword and found the blade by the hearth.

Jon flexed his burned hand.

The Valyrian Steel glowed in that familiar deep grey color, the shapes on the blade of metal forged and bent over itself thousands of times were visible under a thin layer of oil, perfectly done. Longclaw was as if it had never been used. Lord Eddard had taught his sons to care of their weapons themselves. _Another point to be ashamed of, bastard._

Sansa just sat atop the bed, and he had a glimpse of her clothes before she closed the cloak around her body. Her dress was simple wool, plain and blue, more fitting for a handmaiden than a lady, he realized. "Is that Valyrian Steel?"

"Aye" In some nightmares, Jon could still see the blue eyes of the wight coming for him before he set the thing on fire. Now that night was becoming the lesser evil of his fears replaced by others far worse, like the realization slowly crawling into his brain, filling him with guilt. "I didn't know you were alive."

His voice sounded weird and hurt to his own ears and suddenly he wants to kneel and ask forgiveness, he wants to apologize for not knowing, otherwise, he surely would have come for her. _Would you though? Like you almost did for Father? Robb? Like you would have done for Arya without a second thought?_

"It's all right" He heard her answering, breaking that chain of thought. "Roose Bolton didn't want to spread news of my marriage until I was with child. He wanted to make sure the rest of the North wouldn't try to steal me away in some act of revenge, and he was also fearful of Baelish's intentions in giving me to his son." Her voice was dull, but Jon was certain he could sense an edgy of bitterness under it.

"I'm sorry"

"Was it your fault?" He is taken aback by the tone of anger, and Jon quickly shakes his head. Her eyes soften at the gesture and suddenly she is bringing her knees to her chest, like something fragile trying to find solid ground. He feels the chill for the first time, and wonders why Satin hadn't come to light the fire. _Maybe it is for the best that he didn't though_. It only took a few moments to get the firewood burning. "I'm really happy to see you Jon, I… I still can't believe I'm here." her words take his attention away and her eyes are on him again like twin pools welcoming him in. "I thought I had… lost you"

 _You did lose me._ He thinks, remembering how cold he had felt. "I'm really happy to see you too, Sansa." He said sincerely, glad when she beamed back at him. "Are you… Hungry?"

"Yes." She says grimacing. _Of course, she is hungry you fool, you're hungry yourself._ Nodding, Jon moved a little too quickly towards the door glad when he found Mully and Horse outside, talking about Wun Wun.

"I swear there won't be any cabbages for us when winter comes."

"Fine by me." Mully says. "Never liked cabbages anyway."

"Would you rather have prunes?"

"Bloody hell…"ttr

Jon clears his throat at that, startling the two as they turn around.

"M'lord" Mully says as if he had only gone to sleep instead of dying.

He gives them a short greeting, taking the sight of the huge woman standing a few steps away from the door, clearly on a guard of her own. "You two make sure no one enters," He told them, leaving for the courtyard.

When he executed the traitors the castle had seemed especially dark and oppressive. Looking into Olly's eyes mostly had felt like the whole Wall was staring down at him with hate. Every corner, every shadow, every dark frame was an enemy or a reminder of his failure. Now it was just Castle Black in an icy afternoon.

There was a large number of free folk wandering around, doing chores with black brothers. Men wearing the fiery heart of Baratheon were still around as well, keeping mostly to themselves like a defeated lot. He sees Leathers and Iron Emmett working with recruits and Wun Wun sitting by the King's Tower. _I should put Sansa there, she would be safe with the giant at her door._

Unlike the brothers escaping his sight as he makes his path to the kitchens, Three-Fingers Hobb actually reacts to his presence, eyeing him carefully up and down before grumbling as he poured two bowls of stew and took some black bread from the table. "Tollet said you came back, apparently in the after-lifeyou can only eat prunes, that was the reason he said."

"Are you asking me?"

"Not really, bugger if I want to know m'lord." He pours a horn of ale and then throws a sausage on the plate. "It would ruin the surprise."

"Aye it would." Jon said grabbing water and leaving the kitchens through the great hall. He hears whispers from the brothers eating there, but none of them can grab his attention as he moves. His thoughts are solely on Sansa as he comes back to the rooms behind the armory. After dismissing his guards and eyeing the woman one more time he enters, finding his sister running her fingers through Ghost's fur, the direwolf lazily lying on her lap.

 _She lost Lady_ , he remembers seeing her peaceful smile as she basically embraced the wolf, her eyes darting to him briefly as he enters. "I was wondering where he ran off to" He said placing the food on the table, taking a bowl of stew and some bread. He wondered briefly about the sausage before deciding to set it aside. _Your sister suffered enough_. "Here"

"Thank you" She took the bowl and the bread before scooping up on the bed, resting her back against the stone wall. The room was already feeling warmer due to the fire and Jon sat at his table, taking of sip of ale, before tasting the stew. There was meat there which was a good surprise, some onions too and tiny pieces of carrot that Jon tasted hungrily.

They eat in silence for a while, and Jon can't help but watch. His gaze is drawn to her sad smiles as she feeds Ghost with a piece of meat. The wolf chews on it greedily, before setting back on her legs. _Bloody wolf_ , Jon thinks as his direwolf's eyes met his as if daring him to say something.

"I saw that woman, Brienne, she has a lion on her sword"

"It's Father's sword." She said, and Jon raises an eyebrow as she elaborates. "The Lannisters, they melted Ice down to make a pair of swords. The one with Brienne was for Jaime Lannister."

"The Kingslayer's sword?"

She was nodding now and Jon felt an urge to go back outside and place a watch over the woman. "He gave it to her. Mother, she freed the Kingslayer and sent Brienne with him to escort him to King's Landing. It was supposed to be an exchange, but…" Jon doesn't need to hear, he knew. The Red Wedding… Robb… He feels broken just thinking of it. _Farewell Snow._ "Apparently the Kingslayer made an oath to keep me and Arya safe. So he sent Brienne to find us. At least that was what she told me… True or not, she saved my life before." She finished, explaining her trust.

"And he gave her a sword" Jon finishes, his thoughts in shambles. It wasn't enough that Theon had helped her, the Kingslayer had his own part to play in all of this, and he, her brother. _What did I do? I never even knew she was in the North, so close._

"She is good. I didn't believe her at first, but she still came for me." She smiled. "For all her size, she is quite shy as well, young." _You're young._ Jon wanted to say, but he keeps silent. After everything, he doubts Sansa would want to hear that. "Why did you ask?"

"She has been guarding the door for some time now…"

Suddenly his sister seemed a lot like her younger self when she was annoyed with something Arya had done and he almost expected her to stomp her foot down. Getting up, she practically marched to the door and Jon could hear her words, hard and steady, not harsh. There was an answer and then a response and before he knew the door was closed and she came to sit by his side, close to the fire. He felt like smiling at the way she pressed her lips together.

"She rode day and night to save me, and day and night with me. What use would be a knight dead on her feet? She should've known better."

"You should as well" He said earning the attention of those blue inquiring eyes before he motions to his sword. Now he is sure she is blushing, and the soup she takes is a distraction. "You were tired as well, you didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. Brienne showed me how she cleaned her blade when we were traveling, I believe I did it properly." She said slowly, taking a sip of her meal. Jon gulps internally and nods, taking a sip of his ale as the silence envelops them, like a blanket, not at all uncomfortable as it is uncertain.

He wondered what he should say. Should he even say something? He tried to remember the sister that went south when he left Winterfell, but he is not a maiden to keep her company, he doesn't know how to talk. So he simply tries not to stare.

"Thank you." He finally says meaning a lot of things at once, feeling the need to say it.

Sansa blinks at him and nods with a smile. It was a pretty smile, short, not as wide as he remembered, and that made him sad. _What happened to you?_ He wants to ask, fearing that he would have to answer the same question, or worse, cause her pain.

"This is good soup" Her voice speaks cutting through the fog of silence.

"Aye" Jon answered eagerly. "Just don't tell it to our cook, Hobb would never let us forget that a highborn lady praised his food."

She smirks. "I promise to try." She said turning to the fire, the blue of her eyes dancing in the sight of the flames as if trying to grasp something from the moving shapes. "Do you remember those kidney pies Old Nan used to make?"

"With the peas and onions" _I was dead_ , he thought gloomily. _Now I'm not, and we're talking about kidney pies._ He wanted to laugh, but the memory was sweet and he let it drag him. "Robb always wanted to sneak in and steal the first piece."

"And you went with him" She accused as he remembered the times they had to bribe her not to tell. She was already a little lady then, all wanting her proper due. He chuckles, and by his side, she does the same. _Is she really taller than me?_ He wondered, not sure how to feel about it.

As the moment settles like dust on a quiet room, he can almost feel the mood changing, the words forming in her mouth, like the first flakes of summer snows.

"I keep wishing to go back…" Her voice was sad now, just like the smile settling on her lips. "I want to yell at myself for so many things. Don't go you idiot, I want to say. Stay. Play with your siblings, give Father a hug let Mother know how you…"

"None could've known" He offered weakly.

"It doesn't matter Jon" His name was almost a song on her lips, like when he opened his eyes. "It doesn't excuse anything…" She looked sadly at him. "There were lots of times, recently, when I thought about you…" She smiles a sad smile. "I wish I could change everything"

"We were children"

"I was awful to you, just admit it."

He has to laugh, remembering. She wasn't awful, not really, merely distant and polite in a way that hurt a lot. As Lady Catelyn, Sansa was a constant reminder of what he was not, but there was also the moments when she would show she cared and those… "You were occasionally awful…" He says now worried that he might offend her, but she doesn't seem bothered. "I'm sure it wasn't easy though with me sulking in the corner every now and then…"

"Stop it…" She chuckles a little before he can finish, looking down on her lap. "Can you forgive me?"

"Sansa"

"Forgive me"

He was already shaking his head, the past seeming distant and insignificant now, after everything, after dying and coming back. _You came here for me, you brought me back._ "There is nothing to forgive" He says with a smile.

"Forgive me"

"No"

"Please" She says in a tone he remembered her using when she wanted someone to be her knight in a children's play, smiling too, and he cannot help but feel proud for putting that smile there, lighting her face like the breaking of dawn.

"All right I forgive you," He says, taking a sip from his ale. When he meets her eyes again she is motioning to his horn. He thinks only for a moment before handing it to her, watching as she takes a sip, coughing immediately. Jon finds himself chuckling, his heart warming up even more at the sight. "You'd think after eight thousand years the watch would learn how to brew good ale."

"It's not that bad" She says taking one more tentative sip, and he could see her mind working, lips smacking at the taste with a forced smile. "It's getting better"

"Aye" He says tentatively feeling like laughing for no reason, and he knows he is smiling like a fool still and then…

"She saw Arya."

"What?" He asks and Sansa is staring at the fire again.

"Brienne, she saw Arya at the Riverlands, but she didn't trust her, much like I didn't. She was alive Jon" Sansa tells him, as he thinks back to his little sister. Skinny, messy hair and smiling. The memory is enough that he feels the daggers piercing him again. _Little sister…_ "And Theon, he told me Bran and Rickon are alive, I'm sure I hear Bran speaking to me when I…"

"I thought I saw him too." He says remembering whispers in veils of shadow. There is silence now as he hears the fire crackling. His brothers, his sister… They are alive, Sansa was here, they were not dead, they were scattered to the winds.

"Jon…" She hesitates. "Are you staying here?"

"I can't" He can still see their eyes on him, he lowers his gaze. "Not after what happened."

"Where… Where will you go?"

"Where will we go." He says right away, turning to watch her. There was no way he would leave her out of his sight. She was what he thought he would never have again. "Father's ghost would come back and murder me if I don't look after you."

"All right, where will we go?"

"Away from here, someplace safe and then we can find them."

Her smile stays in her face as she looks away. "There is only one place we can go Jon…" He stares, waiting for her answer, and when it comes it might as well have been a roar. "Home"

"What? Should we tell the Boltons to pack up and leave?"

"We'll take it back from them"

"We don't have an army" He says watching her chin rising.

"How many wildlings did you save?"

"They didn't come here to serve me" He points out, he had promised they would fight their common enemy, not Boltons, but Sansa doesn't flinch.

"They owe you their lives, and this is their fight too whether they want it or not. Do you think they will be safe here if Roose Bolton remains Warden of the North?" She gets up now, moving to the table as if brimming with energy all of the sudden. He can only see the daggers…

"Sansa…"

"Winterfell is our home" She interrupts him softly, admonishing like he was a child again and he did something wrong. "It is ours, Jon. It is ours and Bran's, and Rickon's and Arya's wherever they are, it belongs to our family. It's our home and we have to fight for it…."

Her voice cuts like the last blow of a fight. The horn is shaking in his hands and he stares at them confused, is it him? Suddenly his shoulders are tense; He can feel in his knees the will to run away. His head is shaking before he knows it.

"Jon…"

"We can go somewhere else…" His voice is forced. "We can run and look for Arya and…"

"No." She cuts him. "No running Jon, we can't… Not anymore. We have to fight"

"I'm tired of fighting." He almost yelled, rising to his feet, the horn falls from his hands, spilling the contents before the fire, he paces nervously. The peace is gone, done with, it would never last. Years of hardships piling up and suddenly his heart is heavy, dropping… _For the Watch…_ He stares at her. "Everything I've done since I left home, was fight! I fought wildlings, I fought my brothers, I killed men I admired, I fought the dea..." He chokes on the last words, seeing her eyes meeting his. Blue eyes, hard like steel. "I lost, Sansa…"

"You're just gonna give up then? Just like that?!"

"You don't know what I've been through!"

"Neither do you!" She shouts now and he can hear the faint brush of the wind outside, like a punch to his gut. "It's not a matter of what happened to us Jon, it's a matter of what we choose to do now! Don't you see? If we don't take back the North we will never be safe. If we don't push back at once, we'll always be hunted and hurt to the edges of the world… I know this Jon. I know it… You speak of running and finding them, but you know that won't happen… The only way we will ever be safe, the only way we can ever have our family back is going home… To Winterfell!" There are unshed tears brimming inside her eyes now, but they simply seem to give weight to her strength. "I want you to help me Jon, but I'll do it alone if I have to."

Her words break him, he opens and closes his mouth not knowing what to say as her hand comes closer, traveling the small distance put between them, reaching for a delicate grasp. Jon finds her fingers intertwined with his in a gestured that hadn't reached him since his younger memories.

Was it so long ago when father had ushered him and Robb to his side, watching a little girl of six playing with dolls and told them to protect her? A time long past when Jon had made a vow with Robb, with all the seriousness an eight-year-old could muster?

Shortly after that though she would learn about bastards and what they meant, and he would never again guide her hand around the courtyard.

The thought though held no strength. Jon just wanted to forget all that, he just wanted this. She was the last piece of Winterfell, the last piece of the home he had known, the home where he slept away from the family and sat at a distance in important feasts, where Lady Catelyn would look at him as if he had grayscale, where Father would offer hidden smiles and Robb would joke and pat his back, where Bran would climb walls and train with a bow, the home of Rickon's tiny steps and Arya's beaming smile… He felt completely defeated, and there was still doubt lurking inside his thoughts… For now, though her hand was holding and urging him forward.

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 **Wow, XD... From now on the story takes flight, please read and review...**


	6. SANSA III

**SANSA**

* * *

She spent her morning writing letters.

The parchment and ink waiting for her atop the table, calling and pulling.

Silently, she took the quill by her side and, dipping it into the ink, she slowly formed the words of the first letter, going through the moves she learned under Maester Luwin, making each word into a piece of precision. She was always good at her letters, mother and father always said so, and every compliment and smile had meant the world to her.

It meant she was doing well, it meant she was fitting, close to being perfect. She was the lady that she was meant to be with all the sweetness, and kindness meant to enchant the people around her, so her presence alone should mean the betterment of a morning. That been so she became as good as she could in everything but numbers, she was dreadful at numbers, and now she did not even found that many spots of ink on her fingers, the skin still slightly pink from before.

It had been early in the morning when a young steward had come calling, Satin had announced two wildling women helping carry a tub and water for her bath. Lord Commander's request if the Lady approved, had been his words. Sansa had schooled her features not to jump at the opportunity, accepting everything graciously. The wildling women spoke not a word as she eat her breakfast, neither did they bow, instead they chatted for a long time and finally left.

Alone, Sansa had finally found enough courage to slip from the old wool gown she had worn since fleeing Winterfell. _My home_ , she thought tracing a scar running by her tight. _They hurt me and made me flee my own home_. What sort of monster did such a thing? During bathing, she had watched silently as the water became darker, and the warmth sent a cleansing sensation all the way to her toes. Scrubbing had been hard. Some scars had not healed completely, and the bruises would hurt with a simple touch, still, she grimaced, pushed on and whimpered until her skin was pink and clean.

 _Steel_

A silent tear run down her cheek as she rose and started dressing. When there was a rapping on the door and she heard Brienne, her voice had sounded sharper than she intended, as she finally tied her laces as best as she could. Offering only a small nod to her knight, Sansa sat by the table listening to the movement of the bath being taking away, while the letter began.

After a full night of sleep, Sansa knew she had no reason to wait longer even if she wished to know what Jon would do. Her brother had avoided speaking about anything concerning the Boltons so far. She would hear about letters sent to castles of the Watch, and wildlings moving in and out of his quarters, but with only one day she had no idea what was truly on his mind, and the game waited for no one.

If she was to gather allies, she had to move before the grasp the Boltons had over the North became stronger and for that, her claim had to be made clear. She thought of Theon wondering briefly how he would feel about her words, before letting that feeling go away to give space to her duty.

Measuring word after word, into sentences that let it be known of crimes and what justice meant. She called upon the legacy and honor due to her House and the promise of justice, she let it be known that the North was not without a leader. She wrote those letters for those who suffered under Bolton rule, for the crimes against the North. She wrote for courage, defiance, and justice. She wrote for her past childhood murdered inside her own walls and for her family most of all.

She only realized time had passed when Brienne moved on her seat.

Sometimes Sansa forgot her knight was close. Brienne was good at not been noticed when she was not needed, which made Sansa wonder how she acquired such skills. She had learned things herself in Joffrey's court, choosing dresses that were pretty but would mix with the crowd, the walls and tapestries, doing anything not to call attention to herself and yet looking beautiful enough so if noticed it wouldn't be by a discontent king. Her resistance then had been a quiet one, of thoughts and careful words, courtesy had been her armor and she never dared to shed it. Something else the lady knight shared with her…

"You know you don't need to be on your toes all the time Brienne?" She asked signing up the scroll.

The woman still had her breastplate and gorget, with pauldrons covering her shoulders. She had no skirt, but her mail stood from under the plate reaching over her tights to the schynbalds and greaves. Gauntlets rested by her feet allowing her fingers to move over her horn. Almost everything, Sansa noticed, had been fashioned in a deep blue color just like Brienne's eyes in the right light. Sansa wondered if anyone else had noticed that.

"I don't mind Lady Sansa, there is no harm in been prepared."

"You judge I'm not safe with my brother?" She asked pouring sand over the letters. Brienne fidget, avoiding her eyes.

"N-no my lady, I judge your brother seems a decent enough man, but I've heard the song of Danny Flint, and those wildlings, that Tormund fellow is already a boisterous one, and the woman in the next room always has a knife on her…"

"She is protecting her baby I think. Jon said plenty of knights have mentioned bedding her because they think she is a princess." Sansa explained although she was curious herself about the woman occupying her neighboring quarters she rarely saw her. "In her situation it is understandable, but I doubt anyone would try anything with a giant at our door."

"The giant…" Brienne hesitated. "I always heard foul tales about them…"

"I did as well" Sansa had plenty of memories about Old Nan's stories, although the giants were not always evil. They were only evil creatures in scary stories, stories Bran loved and that she hated. "But as far as I can tell Wun Wun is rather kind, clumsy but kind."

"It is the clumsy part that worries me, my Lady, this morning he almost sat on a wagon."

Sansa smirked. "I'm sure he is aware of that." She poured the small amount of wax and sealed the letter. The Watch didn't have many colors to choose from, but Satin had found a darker grey wax amongst his supplies, which Sansa slowly shaped into a wolf seal. "And how is Podrick?"

"He is well" A warm smile settled on Brienne's face, it happened every time she spoke of her squire. "I put him to practice with the other recruits, it will do him good to fight new people. He has no talent with a sword, but he is dedicated to learn. He is good with horses and can treat his mount as well as any master, he does his tasks well and fully, he doesn't slack and, most important, he knows right from wrong and has diligence and loyalty to spare…" The knight stopped as if now she realized how much she spoke, Sansa merely smiled as she cleared her throat. "Apologies, my Lady"

"Nonsense, compliments should never be spared if they are true"

Brienne nodded, cleaning her throat again. "He will be a fine knight someday."

"A true knight" Sansa had seen enough fight hungry men to know Podrick was beyond merely swinging a sword around. Podrick was gentle and kind and, as Brienne said, he knew right from wrong. Sansa shivered.

Later she had her load of letters done and rose from her seat. From one door of the tower, she could hear a baby crying, the sound fading slowly when she came out to the daylight. Wun Wun was having a conversation outside with the wildling who could speak his language. Men moved around pushing barrels and running errands and once Sansa thought she caught a glimpse of Jon before he disappeared into the Commander's Tower. When she and Brienne finally arrived at the rookery they found an old man named Clydas who worked as a maester, although he wasn't a maester at all.

"I was just Maester Aemon's eyes, my lady" He explained as he prepared the ravens. "I never really saw the citadel, never even knew much of it until Maester Aemon spoke about it. He used to have plenty of tales of his learning there. I mostly just copied him when I can."

"You're unnecessarily humble, I found that even to mimic a certain behavior it is expected a certain level of wits." She told him, as the first ravens took flight under his gentle laugh, taking her words away to Last Hearth, Deepwood Motte, Torhen's Square and Bear Island, White Harbor and Karhold and even Pyke…

To all of them she wrote as Sansa of House Stark, Lady of Winterfell.

Even as the last raven disappeared towards the south she stood there, flanked by Clydas and Brienne, wondering if an answer might appear the next time she blinked. _Was this how you felt when you called the banners Robb? Did you feel this same fear? This same trembling spreading through your body, knowing everything was hanging on the hands of other people's loyalty?_

No matter what, she promised to be brave like him. That she could do.

Shyly she glanced at the man again, making one last request for the day. He seemed shocked, Brienne not so much.

"I'm afraid I don't have much use for it, my lady, but the wildling women are known to be capable of brewing it. I might have to ask them."

"So be it…" She hesitated. "And thank you…"

"Of course, my lady."

Deciding not to remain idle Sansa walked through the snowy courtyard later that afternoon. She could see plenty of wildlings, men and woman, lying around sharpening spears or chatting. Men of the Watch worked hard, repairing a broken gate that Wun Wun had apparently stormed through while a small group huddled together in shadows simply seemed to avoid everyone, broken men from a broken army. Slowly she made her way to the Lord Commander's chamber.

Dolorous Edd was actually an interesting man, gloomier than Jon in some ways, but also cheerful and Sansa had liked him if only for being Jon's friend. He was not truly Lord Commander, but seemed to be the one giving orders for Jon lately.

"We don't have much, needle and line that is, we usually use what little we know of sewing for repairs, and mostly we have black cloth only. Maybe some gray as well" He was telling her now. "Although there is plenty of discarded clothing from dead brothers. Things they wore when they come here, before taking the black. I'll ask Jared to take a look."

"It would do nicely"

She spent the day sewing, something she was very good at. It was one of the conquests she felt most proud during her youth. It had been many moons of hard work and practice, hurting her fingers again and again until she finally received the first compliments from the septa and her mother and now those feelings slowly made a comfort new presence sooth her nerves as the direwolf came to life with her needle.

She remained in that task for a long time and eventually, her temper wavered. _I'll do it myself if I have to_. Sansa had meant every word of it, and yet she found it was easy to give up when the last piece of home seemed so distant. The sewing became a task all too soon and then a fight. _This is for war as well, just like the letters._

When night finally fell she was satisfied with her work for the day. Her meal consisted of a black sausage, which had more fat than meat, with boiled onions and two eggs which she eat greedily under the rising moon. Her eyes would not close. Her hearth was lit and burning, but the cold was soothing and fresh on her skin as if it could wipe out her suffering, heal her soul and banish the dark thoughts that seemed awaken after so long. The tiny cup, brought to her with the meal, trembled in her hands. The windows rattled under the wind.

Was it wrong that sometimes she would imagine people freezing out there? Those who hurt her most of all?

 _When the world hurts us we want to hurt it back…_

It was another sad thought. There had been so many, and that one made her think of the Hound, bragging about his kills in King's Landing. At that moment she made a promise to herself, one made only to her own sick heart.

"Would you watch me for the night Brienne?" She asked feeling the knight's eyes boring on her back.

"Of course my lady."

Once upon a time it seemed she was broken forever… _But I survived, and I'm here…_ This was different, she decided. Different from that day when she could so easily have killed Joffrey in exchange for her own life…

 _I'll survive… I'll survive and keep moving as long as I can… I'm steel…_

Shuddering, she drank from the cup in one go.

The moon hid under clouds of white mist, and the winds blew like the breath of the ice dragon from Old Nan's tales. She could almost hear its shrieks of delight out there, triumphant roar for winter had arrived and nothing would chain it again.

In the night the wolves howled with it, brothers in arms seeking out prey under white snows, while blizzards drowned the realms of men one by one and the dead were too many to count, for Winter was death…

The trees were everywhere once the night fell.

They were pale with leaves of dripping red, singing a soft lullaby as they reached the soil. The first thing she noticed was that they were not weirwoods, but something twisted and sick. Fog crept from between them slowly like ghosts, haunting the living. Wolves howled yet again and the breath of the ice dragon passed by leaving the trees covered by a shiny layer of frost, yet the soil was warm under her feet and shivering skin.

She walked ahead, and always ahead.

Hands trembling, she became aware of the claws and teeth before she noticed the figure held in the trees' pale branches. They were like tendrils, wrapping around his frame, piercing skin and bone, sunk into a terrible laugh. Beside him, another figure, full of sun and wormy lips sneered with sadistic glee and somehow she knew he was basking in whatever suffering he had inflicted on her.

They were there, she realized slowly. A golden queen and an ugly face with white armor. Pale blue eyes and sharp teeth like knives… They were all there and she was thirsty… Yes, she was thirsty as well… So thirsty…

The blood was warm while it splashed on her skin, leaving corpses around her vengeful frenzy, calling for her to continue… To hurt more, to kill more… She was a wolf and the moon was calling for the kill… She was the wrath of winter and they would feel it… Claws sunk and blood poured away until her muscles hurt and her breath came out ragged, small rivulets of scarlet run from the mutilated corpses and around her own frame. Swirling droplets and small rivulets. The pond was dark, made of darkness and the blood seemed to disappear into it.

Reaching out with a wisp of curiosity she tried to see inside, but only met her own reflex, falling hair and rotten skin covered in blood.

 _No…_

The blood burned through and the peak she felt before now was fiery.

 _They deserve it! They deserve it!_

Her skin was smoking and she screamed like the ice dragon, her own eyes were red with hatred… Crying melted ice…

* * *

 **R &R please XD**


	7. JON II

**Disclaimer: A small part of this text belongs to George Martins's A Dance with Dragons.**

 **Note: I'm looking for anyone to be a Beta for this story, so if anyone is interested please send a message...**

* * *

 **JON**

* * *

They all sat inside his chambers, chairs spread around his table. Iron Emmett took Satin's offer of wine, sipping quietly and only nodding when he was announced as the new First Ranger, much like Edd as the man sat still as a stone. Clydas pulled at his robes, but showed nothing beyond mild curiosity, while Tormund chewed on the leg of a chicken that was supposed to be Jon's meal.

The only man with no reaction from his part was Lord Davos, the Hand of the King was away from the others staring intently at the fire. His only reaction was occasionally look up at Val when the spearwife coughed.

"Ser Denys writes the Weeper has tried to attack the Bridge of Skulls before any terms could be delivered. He threw them back and reckons he has enough men to hold any new attacks but requires instructions on how to proceed." Jon told the small council he had gathered. "I would hear your thoughts."

"The Weeper is a nasty fellow Jon" Edd said with a frown.

Iron Emmett was nodding himself . "Even in the Eastwatch we heard the tales of him plucking out ranger's eyes."

"Mance himself had troubles keeping that one in check Lord Crow" Val spoke from her place, her eyes were the only ones amongst the free folk that didn't stare at him with awe, for which he was thankful. "Always looking for a fight that one, his cruelty often got in the way of better paths."

"Just kill him then" Tormund grumbled. "I might do it if you want, a proper fight."

"We might offer a deal as well" Clydas suggested.

"Kill him and you can enter?" Dolorous Edd smiled ruefully, his eyes seeing past Jon. "My mother used to say that about the son who would eat too much. It was never me though, always ended up with the tail of the rat."

"I always wondered where your humor came from" Jon suggested with a tentative smile.

"If you do that, his men will see to it, but they would always resent you and look for a way to get revenge." Val pointed out.

"Then what do we do?" Clydas asked.

"We take hostages" Edd suggested. "I bet there are parents amongst the wildlings as well. Parents love their children."

"Aye they do" Emmett agreed. "We offer safe passage and guest rights, but the Weeper must be one of the hostages. If we make it clear we won't kill anyone, his own men might pressure him into agreeing, unless I'm reading the situation wrong?" His questioning eyes bore into Tormund and Val.

"No, yee crow is right. The deadmen might be pressing them even now, so his people will be desperate."

"Good" Jon sighed, satisfied. It seemed almost better than he had hoped, to see them coming to a reasonable conclusion. Slowly he placed another scroll over the table. "Cotter Pyke writes that the first shipment of dragonglass arrived from Dragonstone, I'm not sure what will happen once they know of Stannis' death though. He also informed that a thousand freefolk were offered passage in Eastwatch, a dozen were giants with mammoths. I would ask for someone who can speak the Old Tongue to guide them here Tormund."

"Can do"

"Maybe someone that can bring them a warning and a request, you will know soon enough." He saw their puzzled expressions, all of them except Davos, and reached for a parchment well kept under his drawers. "I would also recommend you continue to prioritize bow and arrow practice over the sword, it is the best way to fight atop the wall. Some giants will be staying behind, I believe they can help with repairs as well. Try and find a builder more open minded about their use."

There was a pause as they grasped the meaning of his words, he was opening the scroll atop the table slowly. Val was staring at him curiously, Clydas seemed to have pity imprinted on his eyes while Tormund, Edd, and Emmett seemed eager to know his thoughts. _None of them killed me_ , he reminded himself. His burned hand opened and closed.

He spread the parchment over the table, keeping the corners down with his dagger. "I made this contract with the Iron Bank of Bravos when Stannis arrived. If things go bad, this should provide enough to bring food from the east and the south in hard times"

"Jon" The use of his name was a request as much as to get his attention. "Why are you telling us this?"

"Emmett's got the right question there." Edd said frowning at the contract.

He stood silently, working his arguments in his mind and there were some many of them _. You killed me,_ an angry terrible voice tried to scream. _I have to leave, this isn't my place. I failed…._ Most of all he thought of her eyes opening on his bed, and the way she almost coughed when she reached for his ale. He felt the warmth driving him forward, which was something he thought he had left behind at Winterfell.

The knock took him away from his thoughts as Mully opened the door before he could answer. "M'lord, everyone is waiting in the Shieldhall as you requested."

"Thanks Mully, we'll join them shortly" He said, waiting until the door was closed again. His eyes fell into Val. "I will tell you more later, meet me in the Shieldhall with everyone else." Slowly, each one of them rose, Clydas' gaze lingering on the parchment resting at the corner of the table. The letter had arrived only that morning and had only made Jon's decision easier to follow. "Lord Davos, a word."

He waited for the man to take a sit. Davos Seaworth had stricken him as a good and honest man the short time he had met him. Dutiful to his king and never too busy to offer a word when needed. _And he protected me, even after I had no life in my body._ Now he seemed a broken man, out of duty, out of loyalties, alone in a cold country.

"I sent word to Eastwatch to hold their sails, in case you decide to go home." He told the man now waiting for a reaction, but his eyes were fixed on the table. "I only ask that you send as much dragonglass as you can from Dragonstone. There are still Baratheon men around as well, at least two hundredth survivors fled here and I'm sure you would want to look after them."

The man nodded, almost seeming like a green boy instead of the last bastion of House Baratheon. Jon held his pity back, watching until finally, the Hand of a dead king spoke. "What did you do with the Red Woman?"

He knew the question would come sooner or later, and he only wondered if the answer would do any good. He could understand his need for justice better than anyone, but his own words traded with Melissandre still puzzled him.

She had been waiting for him, as he expected she would be, alone in the chambers that had once been for Queen Selyse. Her robes were still the color of blood, and the bruises were still visible under her necklace where the metal had bitten her skin under Lord Davos' strength.

"Came to take my life Lord Snow?" She had asked in a defeated voice as if the result of it were no real matter, it held very little of her old power.

"Can't you tell?"

"I can tell very little lately" She said, staring up at him with those terrible red eyes. "But I know I can't die here today"

"And why not?"

"Because you're going to need me." She stated, her ruby gloom against the fire, seeming dull and lacking in comparison to the past. "When the Long Night finally comes, you will need someone to help you, someone who knows the Lord as I do…"

Jon shook his head, frustrated. "That is the same speech from before."

"You're the chosen Lord Snow. You rose from death, Azor Ahai reborn, I know it…"

"Pardon me if I don't wish to be part of that trap" _The farthest I get from it the bette_ r, had been his exact thoughts.

"Yet you can't deny the power that brought you back"

"I don't deny the power" He answered, seeming surprising her or maybe not. He was never sure about that woman. Melissandre rose from her seat slowly, it seemed for a moment that she would approach like in other times when his personal space didn't seem to matter, but instead, she glided over to the window.

"What did you see Lord Snow?" He bit his lips, thinking back to the darkness that had greeted him, he thought back to the smells and visions, everything a blur. "What did you see on the other side?"

"You burned princess Shireen…" He said instead of answering, her red eyes met his gray ones.

"I did" Was that a sign of shame he detected on her voice? "I'm flawed like any of the Lord's servants, unfortunately."

"So how can you be so sure I'm going to need you? If you could set me astray so easily?" The question seemed reasonable enough for him, and Melissandre seemed taken aback for a moment. She gazed upon the fire again but offered no answer.

"I was under the king's orders when I gave the child to the flames." She said in a practiced manner and Jon had sighed, for in that was the heart of the problem. She had followed orders from a king and now there was no one left to judge her actions. Lord Davos could do it, but for that to happen they would have a fight. From the Baratheon men left there were still those who worshiped the Red God, and Jon wanted none of that. He would not violate guest rights either.

He could do it. He knew he could, even as anger burned inside him to judge every wrong in the word with the same justice he delivered Ser Alliser and the rest, but the Watch was still not part of the realm, and her crimes were against the realm. His negotiation with the Red Woman had lasted hours.

"I banished her from the North" He told Davos now, watching for his reaction. His eyes never wavered from the floor, his fingers clutched the cloth of his trousers as if seeking the woman's neck once more. Slowly, Jon judged it was time to fill the silence. "Do you mind coming with me, my lord?"

"I'm not a lord, just a smuggler"

"You were Hand of the King" Jon said to that. "And I would ask something of you."

Outside he stayed behind and let out a sigh as he watched the Wall, still there, looming over him like a calling, but that voice was barely something that he could hear right now. _I'm not a lad anymore. I did my duty…_

Now his answer was elsewhere.

He found Sansa inside her chambers, just as he was about to call her to the Shieldhall. She was alone, needlework and furs were strewn across her bed and a map of the north spread above the table, under her intense stare. She looked tired, with dark spots under her eyes and a frown upon her face.

 _She should_ be _home._ He thought suddenly. _She should be home, petting her own wolf, dreaming her own dreams, and having everyone compliment her kindness and beauty._ Instead, she was there, bracing the world and he was trying to convince her otherwise, to abandon all hope and run… And he really would rather run, there was no fight left in him, his muscles felt heavy like lead, his eyes were always threatening to close and when he glanced at Longclaw he saw only the blood and the beast… But when she said she would take Winterfell alone, he could see she meant it, truly… And how could he dare to think otherwise?

"What are you doing?" He asked, surprised by the sight, until her face, covered by that mask of steel, looked up.

"I'm not sure." She licked her lips briefly. "Brienne has been helping, but I know nothing about battles."

He came to stand by her side, pursing his lips as plans he had been thinking on ever since he heard about Robb's death seemed to awaken inside his mind. He could see now, the men moving over the snow, the spears and smoking breaths in the cold and the road appearing over meadows and hills of white.

"The Boltons could raise almost four thousand men from their lands, judging that they came out of the Red Wedding undamaged, they would be the strongest house of the North now."

"Half of those men would be levies."

"The problem with marching to Winterfell" He continued relentlessly. "Is that the Castle stands at the heart of the North. To gather an army strong enough from the other houses you would have to link them somewhere. But from Winterfell they can attack any part of your army and move on to the next."

"You have an army of two thousand here"

Jon bit his lips, about to argue again, when Sansa placed her hand upon Last Hearth. "The Umbers were always loyal to us, they have men."

"Not enough, and the Greatjon was a hostage as far as Stannis knew. Besides, if you have the Umbers, the Karstarks will easily side with the Boltons."

"The Glovers will be against them." Jon blinked, staring at her. Sansa didn't smile, but her face showed certainty. "They will and with them, we have all the small houses from the Wolfswood and men from the western fishing villages."

"The Glovers are as weakened as everyone else." He said sighing and biting his lip. Stannis had no need for this plan, but he had often thought of it. "The only way to match the Boltons fast and be ready to march south without complications will be to gather support from the mountain clans" He finally confessed. "Three thousand men I gather, fit to fight in the snow, even their mounts can fight in the worst conditions."

"I remember Father visiting them" She recalled. "There are no ravens to that place."

"We'll have to go personally"

"So it's we now?" Sansa questioned quietly, yet he could see a small break of her mask, a tug at her lips indicating a smile. He gulped and silently become her to follow him. Instead of walking as he expected she wrapped her arm around his and silently Jon found himself escorting her through the snowy courtyard with the Wall looming over him like a silent judge.

 _I have to be elsewhere now._ He told it, remembering his silent vow to his father's ghost.

The Shieldhall was one of the older parts of Castle Black, a long drafty feast hall of dark stone, its oaken rafters black with the smoke of centuries. Back when the Night's Watch had been much larger, its walls had been hung with rows of brightly colored wooden shields. Then as now, when a knight took the black, tradition decreed that he set aside his former arms and take up the plain black shield of the brotherhood. The shields thus discarded would hang in the Shieldhall.

Hundreds of knights meant hundreds of shields. Hawks and eagles, dragons and griffins, suns and stags, wolves and wyverns, manticores, bulls, trees and flowers, harps, spears, crabs and krakens, red lions and golden lions and chequy lions, owls, lambs, maids and mermen, stallions, stars, buckets and buckles, flayed men and hanged men and burning men, axes, longswords, turtles, unicorns, bears, quills, spiders and snakes and scorpions, and a hundred other heraldic charges had adorned the Shieldhall walls, blazoned in more colors than any rainbow ever dreamed of.

But when a knight died, his shield was taken down, that it might go with him to his pyre or his tomb, and over the years and centuries, fewer and fewer knights had taken the black. A day came when it no longer made sense for the knights of Castle Black to dine apart. The Shieldhall was abandoned. In the last hundred years, it had been used only infrequently. As a dining hall, it left much to be desired—it was dark, dirty, drafty, and hard to heat in winter, its cellars infested with rats, its massive wooden rafters worm-eaten and festooned with cobwebs.

But it was large and long enough to seat two hundred, and half again that many if they crowded close. When Jon entered, it was hardly empty, however slowly it became full as the people started to arrive.

The wildlings outnumbered the crows by five to one, judging by how little black he saw. Fewer than a dozen shields remained, sad grey things with faded paint and long cracks in the wood. But fresh torches burned in the iron sconces along the walls since the current garrison had increased. Men with comfortable seats were more inclined to listen, Maester Aemon had once told him; standing men were more inclined to shout.

Jon and Sansa were standing in the high platform at the back, watching as chatting became talk, each and every person wondering what business had brought them here. He saw Tormund moving to be closer, just as Davos.

The talk was loud and Jon turned to Horse who took a horn out of his belt and blew, the sound bringing everyone to silence. He stared at Sansa briefly and she offered him a small nod that was enough to make him talk.

"I summoned you all here, to hear dire news and make a few announcements." He said, watching faces changing to somber mood. Dim Dalba, Wick Whittlestick, Left Hand Lew, and Alf of Runnymudd were to his left. To his right, Soren Shieldbreaker sat with his arms crossed against his chest. Farther back, Jon saw Gavin the Trader and Harle the Handsome whispering together. Ygon Oldfather sat amongst his wives, Howd Wanderer alone. Borroq, a fearsome wildling warg with a boar, leaned against a wall in a dark corner. Mercifully, his boar was nowhere in evidence. He reached for the letter then, a piece of parchment full of threats and anger, the bits of pink wax still visible.

The Shieldhall burst all of the sudden.

Every man began to shout at once. They leaped to their feet, shaking fists. Swords were brandished, axes smashed against shields. Jon Snow looked to Tormund. The Giantsbane was yelling as loud as everyone else, bursting his fist in the table angrily. Jon turned to Horse again and nodded, seeing Sansa grimacing at the sound, the sight was funny and he felt some of his tension ebbing away.

He turned to the hall again.

"The Night's Watch takes no part in the wars of the Seven Kingdoms," Jon reminded them when some semblance of quiet had returned. "However I'm not of the Night's Watch anymore," He said, seeing the quiet reaching everyone at once.

"What are you talking about crow?" Barroq shouted.

"Jon?" Dolorous Edd asked frowning as if he knew.

"I fulfilled my vows!" He said. "It shall not end until my death! My watch has ended! I didn't break my vows and I won't ask the Night's Watch to do the same! So before I leave I give you one last command naming Dollorous Edd Lord Commander until such a time as voting can be put forth." There was grumbling and silence as they took in the news, but Jon couldn't know of a better man. Despite his personality, Edd had been squire to Lord Commander Mormont for years and knew the ins and outs of the Watch as well as any man.

The new Lord Commander was wise enough to only nod despite his obvious reluctance and Jon almost regretted his trap now, but there was nothing he could do.

He took in the free folk now, more to his right. "The Bastard of Bolton is a danger to the North though, a danger to us all, that could very well mean victory to the Others in the Long Night. He wants to kill you, and anyone he might see as a traitor. He hunts women for sport and takes skins from those who disobey. We intend to face him."

"Alone?" Edd asked, abashed.

"Aye" Jon smirked. "Unless someone else wants to join us"

The roar was all he could have hoped for, the tumult so loud that the two old shields tumbled from the walls. Soren Shieldbreaker was on his feet, the Wanderer as well. Toregg the Tall, Brogg, Harle the Huntsman and Harle the Handsome both, Ygon Oldfather, Blind Doss, even the Great Walrus.

"We follow you crow" Tormund said banging his horn at the table.

Jon turned to Sansa. Her eyes were shining and her lips turned upwards, a smile just for him.

 _We have our army,_ he thought. _We're going home._


	8. THEON

**Reviews... Thanks for the reviews everyone...**

 **Sandy: Yes I have an Ao3 account and eventually I'll publish my stories there as well, same titles and everything, together with some new stuff too...**

 **Now this is a short one, please enjoy.**

* * *

 **THEON**

* * *

My name is Theon. He repeated again, clutching the warm furs to his person and trying to seek safety in his own arms. It was not as cold or horrible as it could be, not even close. Considering everything, his past nights had been filled with more comfort than anything he remembered feeling.

Castle Black itself had been full of empty quarters, the leftovers of an order that once numbered almost ten thousand strong, but that now was but the shadow of a shadow. The leftovers of the realm and he could actually choose a bed, even through the cold it was good. Out here it was much the same. They traveled by day and slept by night, and he had enough furs that he was better off than with the Watch. And he could choose a soft spot of land and sleep with no worries.

Reek never got to choose, he was lucky to sleep with the dogs and even luckier to have a cloak to get warm. _But I'm not Reek, not anymore. I'm Theon_. Theon could choose, and Theon was worth something, Theon was worthy two children.

 _The Old Gods knew my name._

 _In Winterfell, even then they remembered._

He had delivered Sansa's plans to Ramsay, he told his master about her, about how she would try to escape. It had been a kindness, he repeated to himself as he heard the sounds through the door. Had his master caught her trying to escape, the punishment would be worst. Had he caught her it would be unbearable and he would break her, just like him.

None of that made him feel better though.

Just broken. Broken. _You should have died with Robb. Where were you when he died?_

That night he had not slept, Sansa's cries echoing in his head softly and desperate under the gaze of a man with a wolf's head. Eyes like molten gold stared at him and hated. _No…, please… It's not my fault…_ And he whimpered under his nightmares. _I was trying to help her… I'm just Reek! I'm Reek… That is all I can do…_ But the eyes never looked away and after some time it seemed his own heart was a melting pool of gold…

 _It was only fair_ , he thought in his despair, _it was fair._

From the moment he burned that letter in Pike his fate was settled. He was Reek, forever Reek, it rhymes with meek. He walked around Winterfell again at the time. With Sansa there, he had been almost left to himself, as long as he stayed away from the bastard's boys everything would be fine, so he walked and wondered, watching the place that had been home. _But it was never my home, my home was at the sea. This place is far away from the sea._

And yet his memories were all from here, from the north. The first time he picked up steel, the first time he kissed and the first time he had a woman. He saw himself laughing and smirking, he saw himself under Robb's gaze and suddenly his steps stopped, crunching the snow beneath.

The weirwood was staring him down.

 _How did I get here?_ He had wondered, remembering. _I played here with them, but I was never one of them._ He told the heart tree. _I was a ward, a hostage. It doesn't matter that Robb would challenge me for a snowball fight or ask questions about archery... It doesn't.  
_

But it did.

 _Theon…_

 _I'm Reek, it rhymes with Freak._

 _Theon_. The heart tree had said, thick and soft, like the rustle of leaves and the silent pain of a sister. _Theon…._

He remembered crying them. _No… I'm Reek… Please…_

He wanted the tree to stop, but his name came like the lashes of a whip. _They were just farm boys, I never even touched them_. But when he looked up the weirwood seemed angry, its face assuming familiarity, with eyes that judged and pitied him and he had not known which one was worst as he collapsed in heaving sobs with the molting heart burning his soul.

He was numb and hurt the next time he found her in the bedroom. Next time when there was an arrow pointed at her chest and her eyes refused to back down. When the horns of battle called and the only escape was to jump, he still remembered those eyes, Robb's eyes… Brave eyes... So like her own as she stared from atop the battlements and he knew she had made up her mind… She offered him her hand and they jumped.

They did. They escaped. _Everything was fine_ , he remembered thinking. _I'll bring her to Jon and he'll kill me and then he would finally rest._ It would certainly be fine to rest, to be away from the pain… And it was fair too…

"The sun is up, Turncloack, time to rise." The voice scared him and for a moment he recoiled, trying to seem as small as possible as he did back in the Dreadfort until he realized the man was not going to kick him. He eyed the figure slowly, a broad-shouldered man, bald with a thick beard, holding a spear and wrapped in dark clothing.

He was looking at him with eyes that told him to obey and so he did.

He limped into a small fire surrounded by his escorts and accepted a bowl from the man in black, his hand warming instantly against the cold morning. He saw that the bowl was full of soup, hardly any meat, but the vegetables were soft enough that they didn't hurt his broken teeth. He held back a cackle and slurped the meal happily.

They were treating him really well these men, they had been traveling for a fortnight and none of them had kicked him or threatened him yet. Well, they did call him turncloak, but it seemed to be his name more than an insult… It was far better than Ramsay's men would do though, far better than he deserved, so he said nothing as they helped him mount his horse. Barely able to ride alone with his weak body and aching stumps, his mount was tied to the lead rider, so he only had to grit his teeth and hold tight through the journey.

As they raced across the north from east to west, Theon wondered how Sansa was doing. She had been kind to him, and Jon ignored him instead of beating him and that was kind as well. And he could help them as well, he was doing it right now, by going to the place that had rejected him, a place he feared, a place that, he was surprised to find, he was afraid of seeing again.

Ironborn he was not, that had become clear to him. He never was.

His uncles mocked him, his men mocked him even his father mocked him and now there was only Yara, and she mocked him the most. _But she said yes_ , he remembered, _so maybe she cared._ She had come to rescue him too, that one time, but she failed, _I failed… I was weak… I was Reek still, and she didn't understand…_

 _I was Reek, and Reek can only cower…_

 _As_ Theon _I can save two boys_. He thought, feeling less guilty. _That was what Sansa said after all._

It had been a scare when he was brought to the Commander's chambers, left out by a corner as if nobody truly cared that he was listening. _And why should_ them _? I'm nothing, not really…_ It was the same with Ramsay and Roose, they talked and talked and never cared that he listened. But Sansa had cared, the whole conversation she stole glances at him and all he could do was whimper and look away as he heard words… White Harbor and Last Hearth… Greatjon… Hostages… Mountain Clans and spearwives... And then suddenly he was alone before Jon Snow and Sansa, both of them standing there before him, like ghosts of Lord and Lady Stark ready to punish him, but all Sansa did was ask something of him. She asked, she never ordered, and how could he say no? So he shivered and stammered and offered a shaking nod.

When Yara retreated from the North, and the Ironborn left most of their small conquest behind, she took a prize with her. Robett Glover's children, the newborn Erena, and little Gawen, leaving Lady Sybelle behind when Deepwood Motte was retaken by northern forces. So a deal was made. He would go to his sister, and the little Glovers would come back home, that was the deal.

And so he would go, to Pyke, to his sister. His sibling. Not as Robb, the sibling he betrayed, the sibling he forgot and whose memory sent jolts of pain too great to put into words. _I deserved to lose my fingers…_ He knows, he always knew. _I deserved everything,_ he thinks, staring at his mangled hand and the toes missing from his feet, and yet Yara was better than Marron and Rodrik ever were.

 _At least she never beat me…_ He thought, cackling. _She just humiliated me in front of Father and my men._

And yet, even this, he deserved, even as he and his guards came up a small hill and glimpsed the distant ship waiting out at the sea. At the beach, there was a small party of men, two children between them and above them the golden kraken of House Greyjoy. Greyjoy... The name tasted hollow and somehow hurtful...

He couldn't remember saying farewells to his father or Yara... He did remember his last Farewell to Robb... And Sansa...

She had been waiting for him in the Courtyard, talking, her hair a red flame amongst the snows. "You'll deliver him safely, and allow no harm to come to him" She instructed his escorts then, a dozen black brothers given by the Lord Commander. "We must not give the ironborn a reason to hurt our hostages"

After the man, the same that woke him every morning, had nodded, she looked at him and he had tried not to flinch. "Theon..." Theon, his name is Theon…

"My lady…"

"I hope you can find your way" She tells him slowly as they talked privately, away from the men her smile turns sad. "It'll be hard, but I really hoped you can have the strength to do it."

"I don't…"

"No one does" Her eyes are shining now and Theon blinks, looking away. How could she show such compassion to a broken thing like him? Even if he saved her life... "No one deserves these things, justice shouldn't be about cruelty as much as we wish it…"

In his first days, Theon had thought often about taking revenge, but these thoughts were far away _. Did she think of revenge now?_ He wondered as the sails got closer and the gold of the Kraken flapped in the wind, running from his eyes. _How much does she want to hurt Ramsay?_ It is her soft touch to his cheek that makes Theon look up. The last faint smile she offered, kind of sad, kind of determined... Like the smile Robb had when they said goodbye to one another.

"I'll make things right" She told him.

 _Sansa Stark… Her name was Stark, never Bolton, always Stark… She remembers her name, and so do I…_

His name was Theon and it was how his brother used to call him...


	9. DAVOS

**One more**

 **Reviews:**

 **GUest: Thank you!, yes, I hate when the midia tells us about a character rather than show, and I'm trying to do the opposite here. More than, that I want to show Sansa and Jon working together, while growing as their own characters. I always wondered why not have Jon's northern plan ere, I mean Stannis never needed with his mercenaries, and I always thought this is something Jon would do often, imagining how he would help if he could.**

 **Sandy: Thanks, and yes Theon has a whole trauma to try and overcome, his journey won't be easy... But I have a few ideas, I hope you lilke...**

* * *

 **DAVOS**

* * *

His past felt like stone and his future, an endless sea of fog.

When he saw the war galley, he felt his hopes sinking, like a ship on a storm after been battered and chastised for way too long. It was the inevitable end when the keel finally caved, the wood cracked and all that was left to do after a lifetime of traveling the seas was to let it sink. It felt like the ships Salla had lost during an autumn storm, two of his best he claimed, driven to the rocks, sunk by waves and crashing skies.

"You owe me, my friend, you owe me a lot"

"You've been paid" Davos had reminded the man. The Iron Bank gave them a good amount of gold for his services, and Davos knew he has owned at least this small venture. Luckily he knew Lady Brienne was already far away, in her own ship sailing to the riverlands. Even now he could remember her eyes, darting nervously left and right as they met in Castle Black, her voice shy and tentative as she spoke of his king.

"I found him dying in the snows..." She said, her voice fading away to some memory.

"Did you..."

"I didn't help him Ser… I couldn't..."

"Why?" He questioned, not sure of what he was hoping to hear.

"Because he told me to do my duty, and Lady Sansa was in danger"

Their conversation had ended then, with Davos too overwhelmed by grief ot think further into it, or to see more than she had offered and now his own retinue of Salla's fleet sailed up the White Knife, towards White Harbor, finding finally relief from the storms.

There are many storms these days.

Inside his old battered tunic he could feel the parchments yet, sealed with the direwolf of house Stark, for the eyes of Lord Manderly himself. _Who would have thought I would be here like this? Everything because of a few onions._

He had been a broken man when the Red Woman came into Castle Black. His king, Stannis, was dead with all his family, and suddenly any purpose he had in life had disappeared, just like the lives of his sons in the Blackwater. Swiftly brushed aside like a pile of ashes. A quick end… Davos liked to think that. His own life felt like it had been burning for a while, the smoldering remains of firewoods of which the shape could still be seen.

He gave his life for his king, a man that was hard and strong as few he had witnessed. Yet, something had broken. He would never know what or when, but something broke within Stannis Baratheon, Davos was sure of it.

 _Sacrifice… is never easy Lord Davos…_

No it was not. Davos knew that, he knew it better than most. He sacrificed his children at Blackwater, sacrifice his quiet life for the court of a king. He gambled in hopes his sons could be better and have a place in the world, never knowing poverty or hunger. He sacrificed years he could have been with Marya…

Even now Davos thought of his wife with sorrow. He had been unfair to her, leaving her behind to raise their youngest. I was not there even when she received the news about our children's deaths. He could even now imagine her crying, taking prayers to the Seven, sewing by the window.

She had been just as sweet. She would have been a brave woman as well, and kind and intelligent.

 _Who put a_ g in _night?_

 _She taught you how to read_. In his mind's eye, he could still remember the red woman's confession, like poison, leeching him of any sense. His hands had wrapped around her throat there, and gods he would have done it. Davos knew he would have. _Why didn't I?_ He asked himself, his fury and wrath wavering to give space to a sense of deep sadness. The glimpse he caught under a spark of red, of an old aging face stood with him even now and still, Davos was not sure of what his eyes had seen. He didn't care either…

His King was dead and Davos almost forgot…

His King who always saw his duty as something sacred.

 _I never asked for this crown. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I'm king, I have a duty…_ Spoke the voice of a hard man who knew hard truths. And he would have been a good king, even now, Davos refused to doubt that. He punished the wrongs and rewarded the good, he saved the realm from the wildlings and promised justice and yet knew no love for it. Not even from his brothers, not even from his wife. _There was me though and her_ … _._

 _If I must sacrifice one child to the flames, to save a million from the dark… Sacrifice... Is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice._

In the end, he had done it. Davos thought he had purged such thoughts from his king, stopped him from justifying his means with his ends. _Instead, he sent me away and broke under the snows..._

 _Who put a_ g in _night?_

"Where will you go?" The Lord Commander had asked when he came to see him. The young Jon Snow, back to life. Davos had sworn he wouldn't let his fate be the same as Stannis', and yet the question had caught him by surprise.

He knew where he wanted to go.

Home...To Cape Wrath and to his wife. To Marya and his sons. In his mind, he had worked a route to stop at Dragonstone, take Devan and then find his way back home, to little Stannis and Steffon, his youngest. He would forget about kings, queens, lords and wars forever, or until the Others came calling, but he voiced none of those thoughts.

 _We do not choose our destinies. Yet we must ... we must do our duty, no? Great or small, we must do our duty._

But where was his duty now? Inevitably he was given parchment and messages, and Lady Sansa had blessed him with a smile and wished him good winds in his travels. He had said yes to help them, to help the Starks.

It seemed to be… No, it was what his king would have wanted. That thought convinced him enough and helped him forget the princess, for those thoughts were too painful to conceive.

He packed from Castle Black with his meager belongings, and the few Baratheon men left, wondering if he was walking to his death still and bringing more people with him. Then he reached Eastwatch and his courage was tested once more.

The shipment of Dragonglass had arrived under the command of Justin Massey, and his son, Devan, had come with it, eagerly hugging him and asking news from the battle. _They died_ … Was all he could muster to say to his lad and the men.

 _Did I bring one more son to his death?_ He wondered now watching the harbor ahead.

The Lionstar was a big war galley, decorated with lions, golden lions, roaring, rearing, clawing away at the winds. Davos saw the banners of house Lannister and Baratheon flying atop its sails, he watched the big oars and the men sailing it. They all looked like common fishermen, he thought, and wondered why that was.

"Last chance to come with me my friend," Salla said from his back. "The sea calls I say, riches and women for us all, away from this cursed cold as well."

Davos Seaworth thought about it, and by the gods, he felt tempted. To run from the storms, to go deep into the sea. To sail away into his simple life once again and abandon this ungrateful tasks. To feel the winds on his cheeks once more, the salty taste of the air as his heart beat stronger and younger… Yes, he wanted that. Maybe Marya would like to come with him as well. They would all live in the sea and wasn't that a mad dream? He glanced at Devan by his side, his young boy glared intently at the Lannister ship anchored before White Harbor's walls, his gaze holding far too much hatred for his age.

"They are ready for war father" His son pointed out, motioning to the trebuchets, catapults and bowmen manning the walls to the port under the banners of House Manderly, showing the merman against the green-blue of the sea. _Indeed, they are_. He felt the parchments at his tunic yet again.

"You'll go home my son"

"No" The lad's voice was determined and angry. "Father, I was supposed to be the King's squire, but now he is gone. You want me to be safe again when I should be doing my duty?" The boy asked, seeming hurt. "I want to help you"

 _Gods, if only he knew._

Davos looked back at the men. There were twenty-two men who fought for Stannis amongst Salla's crew. Twenty-two whom still wore the flaming heart and stag sigil. The rest had all split between joining the Lyseni Pirates, taking ship back to the free cities or joining Jon Snow's army in hopes of a fight. He questioned their loyalty once more, and when he saw the nods coming from the few King's men left he still hesitated. _I was not made for this, I was never meant for this._

He stepped out of the ship all the same.

They were stopped at the city gates. A young nervous looking captain halted them to question their motives.

"Business with Lord Manderly" He replied eying the young man. The lad seemed unsure of what to do.

"We can't..." A man behind him whispered, stopping at a look from the one in command.

"What business?"

"That is for Lord Manderly and I to know, tell him I come in the name of the Starks." The name seemed like a magic word, and, even though the guards seemed unsure, they scouted him and his men inside.

Davos found his eyes wondering. The Fishfoot Yard was right at the entrance, and he suddenly knew that if he took an alley to the left he would find a brothel where he used to eat pies, inedible pies at the best days, poisonous at the worst. The Old Mint could be seen from there as well, and Davos saw dozens of people, women and children mostly, all refugees he realized, living inside.

They traveled across the market, and moving commoners. He saw a tavern full to the brink and men-at-arms walking the streets. Plazas and septs were filled with refugees as well, but none of that stopped the old scents and memories.

Roro used to say he recognized cities by the smell. Cities were like women, he insisted; each one had its own unique scent. Oldtown was as flowery as a perfumed dowager. Lannisport was a milkmaid, fresh and earthy, with woodsmoke in her hair. King's Landing reeked like some unwashed whore. White Harbor was sharp, salty, and a little fishy like a mermaid should be.

He recognized some truth in that now, after years of his first captain dying for trading with wildlings beyond the Wall. A small child ran past him and his men, and on and on the smallfolk started to open space as they marched towards the New Castle, standing atop of a hill inside the city.

 _How many times have I been here, and fled from such a sight?_ Back at his youth, New Castle was a sure way to the gallows. _Now I'm still walking towards it._ Davos gulped and saw they were now approaching the gates, barred gates, with an old knight and three guards watching the streets.

"Stay close to me" Davos asked his son. Devan nodded, and although he seemed a little pale he kept forward. Davos held back his pride at the courage. For a smuggler courage was doom, for the Hand of a King, it came without saying for he had to enter many halls, unsure of the loyalties inside.

He didn't know much about the Manderlys personally, but he knew that a son was held hostage amongst the Lannisters. Lady Stark seemed hopeful of their loyalty, but Davos was not so sure. His presence alone might be enough to warrant his death or to be sent away.

The young captain that brought them quickly ran to the knight, whispering to his ear. Looking up, Davos let his eyes roam the walls, they were guarded just like the city walls, but these guards were all looking inside.

Frowning, Davos let his gaze fall to the knight, watching him from the corner of his eyes. _Something is happening here_. Davos knew how to recognize when some treachery was happening, he knew when merchants were moving the good cargo away from curious eyes. The problem was that he also knew the only way he had to find out what has been hidden.

"Greetings" He said stepping forward and offering his hand. "Ser, I'm Davos Seaworth, and I come here to speak with Lord Wyman Manderly"

"Aye, we can see that" He felt the man's eyes going past him, maybe glancing at his guards bearing the fiery heart of his late king and his son, bearing the same sigil. "Although why would we receive the Hand of a dead man is beyond me Ser."

"My father is a Lord" Devan spoke, and Davos gave him a warning glance before meeting the man's eyes.

"May I have your name Ser?"

"I'm Ser Merlon" The knight spoke.

"Ser Merlon, I come here bearing messages, but not for my late king Stannis, we came in the name of House Stark from Winterfell, and only them. I seek an audience with Lord Manderly, for my words are only for him."

The knight looked at him now, seeming unsure of what to do. "If you give me those messages, I can be the judge of that."

Davos hesitated. If the Manderlys turned to the Boltons, he doubted it would make a difference trying to fight. They were in the open before barred gates with guards on all sides. Yet, he was still a Hand, even if a poor one at that.

 _He told me to do my duty..._

"I'm afraid the letters are sealed, Ser, and my instructions were clear." He thought for a moment. "If we are offered bread and salt though, I would gladly surrender our weapons."

Davos left at that, feeling quite proud. Only the Lord of the Caste could offer guest right. The knight seemed to catch on to him, his thoughtful blue eyes watched from under thick eyebrows, before donning a grimace. "You have to wait..."

Was all he said. Davos didn't know how long he stood there, his own men becoming restless under the watch from the guards, the cold sun glaring from the sky. From atop the hill, Davos could see the whole city, breathing in and out. It was alive of course, alive and living… And here I come to offer them war…

Slowly he felt that hunger and exhaustion had caught up to him, his feet were starting to hurt, and the cold seemed to increase. It took the best part of the day, and the sun was lowering towards the west when the gates finally opened. Ser Merlon entered first, talking quickly with a well dressed man, wearing fancy furs of green and blue. Finally, he motioned for him to follow. "Your guards can stay here, they will receive food and quarters."

Davos nodded in acceptance.

The guards with the green merman increased in number inside, and Davos felt an impulse to reach for his lost bag of bones as he glimpsed red stains on the floor. He forgot his hunger immediately.

It was with an uneasy heart that Davos Seaworth entered the Merman's Court.

Lord Wyman Manderly waited for them, and he was not alone. An older knight sat by his side, with a young man with a thick walrus mustache and a woman at his side. Two young girls were there as well, one of then, to his surprise, with green hair.

Davos' worried glance did not linger on them though, it was more entrusted with the feast that must have happened a while ago. He saw plenty of food and drink, and yet plenty of it had somehow reached the floor and the walls. The floor was painted crabs and clams and starfish, half-hidden amongst twisting black fronds of seaweed and the bones of drowned sailors and here and there he glimpsed red stains over it.

On the walls, behind an upturned table, there were pale sharks prowling painted blue-green depths, whilst eels and octopods slithered amongst rocks and sunken ships. Shoals of herring and great codfish swam between the tall, arched windows. Higher up, near where the old fishing nets drooped down from the rafters, the surface of the sea is depicted… He saw a crossbow bolt stuck to one of the nets and another stuck to the wood.

To the right a war galley rested serenely against the rising sun; to the left, a battered old cog raced before a storm, her sails in rags. Behind the dais a kraken and grey leviathan were locked in battle beneath the painted waves and below it, sitting atop a cushioned seat, was the fastest man Davos had ever seen, watching him from above.

"My Lord" Ser Merlon approached, kneeling. "I bring the Onion Knight, Davos Seaworth, he claims to have a message."

"Yes..." Lord Manderly spoke as if surprised, but Davos was sure he had been told of his presence. "I see… What brings you to my home, Onion Knight?"

Davos Seaworth took a deep breath, he stepped forward. He thought of Marya and his children. His hand moved to the pocket of his tunic. He thought about his king and a little girl that was good and kind and curious. He never knelled, to do so would lower his position. He gave the letters to Ser Merlon... There was no turning back.

Big or small, we must do our duty.

"My lord, I've come here as an emissary from Jon Snow, and Lady Sansa of House Stark..."


	10. SANSA IV

**SANSA**

* * *

The wildling camp was wide and sparse, filled with tents and small constructions that could be moved every day and rebuilt every night.

They had come from the Gift and their seats on the Wall. Giants came from Eastwatch and spearwives from Long Barrow, led mostly by a woman called Black Maris. Soren Shieldbreaker's people came from Stonedoor while the bulk of Tormund's fighting men and woman marched from Oakenshield. Gerrick Kingsblood had no fighting men, but he stood with the others in councils, although Sansa noticed he was mostly ignored. Brogg and the Great Walrus barely spoke to anyone while the Oldfather whom Jon said had almost eighteen wives would listen intently to every word, all three brought men to the fight. The last to arrive had been Dim Dalba, a gruffly looking man, who brought warriors from the settlements. Sigorn, the Magnar of Thenn followed them everywhere, but Jon had told her he probably wouldn't fight.

"I'm responsible for his father's death" Jon told her one afternoon as he explained to her about them.

It was a sad idea, for as far as Sansa could tell the almost two hundredth thenns were the better armed of the free folk. They wore bronze armor and weapons. The rest bore axes, short swords, spears of stone and hardened wood, hardly they had true steel, although almost every wildling knew how to use a bow. She knew Jon had the intention of instructing them in warfare as best as he could as they gathered support from the rest of the North. He talked them into digging trenches every night and building stakes that could be carried in the march, he spoke of formations and attacks, but Sansa was not sure it would have any effect in such a short notice.

"It will be good for them to know the enemy anyway." Jon said when she questioned him about it.

She was not convinced, even more as she compared them to the many armies she had seen in King's Landing, the Vale and from the Boltons themselves… Still, they were almost three thousand strong and the giants certainly caused an impression. Sansa had stood mounted at the side of the road as they passed, a dozen of them led by Wun Wun, all big, haired and with the heads small in comparison to the bodies. They came bearing big pieces of wood as clubs, almost tree trunks to fight, five were even mounted on the mammoths, hairy beasts with tusks and an awful smell which she didn't notice until Tormund spoke of it.

"Always keep yer tent away if yer not used to the smell, although why someone would want that? Har!"

Sansa hadn't been affected by the comment though. "They are still beautiful" She had remarked, almost letting herself feel in one of Old Nan's tales as the great beings made the earth shake at their passing, listening as Jon spoke about them.

"They can be even bigger in some cases" Her brother explained, looking quite good in his new cloak. "When they get older their fur becomes gray and white, and they value their mounts a lot. The mammoths are sacred to them, and each has a bond with their mount."

"Like our Direwolves" She remarked seeing the corners of his lips tug slightly as Ghost nudged his hand.

"Aye, I suposse so." Her brother answered, his gray eyes watching their passage. "When Mance attacked the Wall he had almost a hundredth giants in his army…"

His voice trailed off to nothing and Sansa could feel the sadness edging the eagerness in which he spoke. There were thousands, then hundredths, now there is less, driven away by men, away from their lands and hills, and the thought made Sansa sad.

 _They are just like us, once there were many Starks, now we are lost and scattered and hoping to be alive when everything ends._

"Ygritte really filled yer head, crow" Tormund remarked as she saw a widling speaking with the giants in the Old Tongue, the grumbles and noises barely seeming like words as far as she knew. Jon's eyes turned away from the sight to the ground, with a deep sadness; almost as big as the one she found when she chased him into his quarters after his execution of the traitors.

After that she merely kept watching as Wun Wun greeted his people, and moved them to the sides of the camp altogether.

Their march was a good and steady pace, Jon told her, and yet sometimes Sansa felt as if they hadn't moved at all. In some ways, it was almost slower than her travel from Winterfell to King's Landing had been. Of course, then she had been all young and giddy, sharing a coach with the Queen and blinded in her impressions of Joffrey. Now, she felt like a stranger amongst these free-folk as they called themselves.

She would ride with Jon most of the time, trying to learn about the people he spoke too, joining him like a shadow. Never she dared to be alone, an uneasy feeling settling in her guts whenever she had to walk amongst men by herself, thankfully Ghost seemed to be always close, and Jon never hesitate to sate her curiosity.

"They steal their wives?" She had asked him one night, shocked.

"Is not how it sounds" He had chuckled, the light was dim on his face, making the lines around his eyes appear strongly, almost erasing the scar on the side. He had a good smile, she noticed as he shook his head. She had first realized this back at Castle Black, when she presented him with the cloak. _Had he always had that smile?_ "They can only steal daughters, never a wife, and they must steal them from another clan or village to strength the blood. The men do it to prove they are strong and worthy, and the woman fight against them to prove the same, but also to prove they are independent. There is not suppose to be death involved or mistreating in any way."

She had blinked at his explanation, taking small sips of water as the night evolved around them. Their tent was small and black, borrowed from the Night's Watch, and was her sleeping place as much as the Council's tent. The day had passed with Jon leaving information on how they should move north around the mountains, where he knew to be defensible positions and how best to secure the camp. Next day they would start their march for the Clans, and what could be their victory or defeat.

"They will fight for you" Jon assured when she made her worries known

"I'm a woman Jon, and one that had too many husbands" She explained sadly. "You are Father's son"

"A Snow" She sighed.

"I swear Jon Snow, sometimes you can be thick as the Wall" She said aggravated when he laughed. "What?"

"Sorry, but you're not a respite of understanding either" He claimed looking down, his shyness in how he worded his observation completely exposed.

She wrinkled her nose. "That is not how you should talk to a lady, Jon"

"I apologize for the truth then"

"Gods, you're impossible" She said earning a smirk from him, as they settled in silence. She was not Arya or Robb, who knew exactly how to make Jon talk, of how to tease and be playful, but she had been learning, and it was sweet. "Do you like them?" He looked up. "The wildlings?"

"I admire them a little" He said softly, his eyes flickering to the lit candle at the table and back at her. "At first I couldn't believe how they all wanted an opinion over something. Mance would have these war meetings, and every man spoke as if they were kings. I thought it was foolish."

"It sounds so."

He nodded. "Aye, but I learned that it was also their strength, I mean, there is no way a man believing himself an equal would accept been mistreated. Their woman would drive an axe through their husband's skull if something bad was to happen." Sansa took care to listen, feeling a slight chill from outside. "That gets them too quarrelsome though, and I don't think it is something completely good. Sam would never survive amongst them for once"

"This Sam is your friend?"

"Aye" He had a real smile as he remarked the name. "A coward he called himself, but he could read and write and rationalize better than many. He was useless in a fight, but his mind was something else and he was kind as well. He helped me"

She felt his silence, at the same time that she was thankful he had a friend like that. His eyes shone as he spoke of him, remembering times as recruits, of defending him of Ser Alliser's torments. This is what the world should be, she thought, remembering Winterfell and distant times when she played of knights and maidens. This is what a true knight does, what a good ruler should do. Protect and care for, bring out the potential and learn from it.

"Did you?"

"What?

"Had any… any friends?" Was that hope or sorrow she detected? Sansa was not sure. She thought about his question and her mind moved immediately to Jeyne Poole, but her childhood friend disappeared the day she wrote those letters to her family. After that there was only King's Landing, there had been no friends there. At one point, under the pressure of living amongst enemies, fearing her actions spied and never allowed to voice her own thoughts, she had been so desperate for companionship she had opened up to Tyrion Lannister.

Even now, the thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. There was the Hound of course, and that Handmaiden who tried to help her when she bled, and Ser Dontos, but they were not friends, they were allies at most. Margaery tried to seem her friend, but looking back at it, she doubted the future queen truly cared for her in the way a friend should, under her kindness there had always been that underlined interest in her family name…

A friend should be someone you like, and someone you can like back. Someone to whom you can truly be who you are, and Sansa hadn't been allowed to be herself in a long time. The closer she got to it had been the Vale…

"I had two friends..." She told Jon now, rubbing her hands. She felt weak sharing this with him, and at the same time eager to do so. "They were Alayne's friends though, but I like to think they truly cared for me."

Jon nodded solemnly. "Maybe you can see them again as Sansa"

"Maybe" She tried to picture Randa fretting over her being of noble birth, and trying to talk to her about her bedding experiences and what not… Then she remembered Mya and her mules, and how she seemed more fond than rilled as Randa listed marriage prospects, offering mirthful comebacks here and there... I would never have befriended them if I wasn't a bastard.

"It is late" Jon said suddenly, getting up. "You should sleep, we ride to the clans at dawn, tomorrow"

She nodded, feeling her smile fading, whenever he left it was too early. "Where is Ghost?"

"Hunting most likely." There was a pause in which he stood at the flap of her tent, awkwardly fidgeting with his thoughts. Of course he hesitated, but still, she looked up at him hopefully. Did he know? Had he been told of how she struggled in her sleep? Probably, or maybe he heard it himself, sleeping so close by.

After she sent Brienne away to seek her uncle, Jon hadn't left her side at night. He would gather his furs and sleep outside, close to the fire. She still felt a small stab of guilt for it. The Raven had been a short message, but it had been for her, his words and apologies and promises. Sending Brienne to the Blackfish, was as far as she would go in trusting him again, no one needed to know the rest.

Jon left after one last smile, and Sansa was alone to ponder. Ramsay's letter full of threats of rape and skinning filling her mind. Trueborn Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, he had written. Roose Bolton was dead, that much she knew, but did he kill Fat Walda as well? Did he kill the baby? Would he be smart enough use that leverage and call for the Freys? Sansa hoped he did so, it would make much easier to gather support if Ramsay threw the Red Wedding at people's faces. He had no political cunning like Roose, but he was dangerous nonetheless.

Slept came to her much later in the night, and when it did, she dreamed of his face and his cruel smile, deaf to her pleading and delighted in her screams and whimpers of pain. His knife always moving, cutting, his teeth, his nails, his member, his pleasure was on her disgust and in her torture. As he chuckled over her, strengthening bonds around her wrist she could hear the dogs by her side. They barked and snarled, tearing something apart amidst his laughter.

"He made a fine meal" He taunted, with pale small eyes, and too late she recognized Jon's scream.

Sansa awoke with a start.

She panted heavily as her heart pounded, her furs falling only for her to clutch them tightly against her chest, trying for any comfort in her terror. It wasn't real, she thought, it wasn't… It wouldn't happen, never… I won't let it happen...

"Sansa" His voice was muffled with an edge of panic, his touch was tender and he approached the bed. Sansa could only see his form and shadow by the corner of her eye. When she finally mustered the courage to stare, relief flooded her body to find his grey eyes alive and well, gentle eyes, worried eyes...

"I-I'm well…" She whispered, even as she felt her body sticky and cold due to her sweat.

"Are you sure?" He was only in his leathers, hair disheveled under a thick wool hat, face almost breaking, as she nodded, taking the hand from her shoulder to clutch it in her palms.

"Yes" She answered. "Just nightmares, that is all"

"Aye"

There was a moment's silence as she took comfort in his presence, hearing the howling wind and the silence of the night, but her world was her dark tent and Jon by her side, staring with all the patience of the world. Falling back down slowly, she pulled his hand with her. _Should I dare?_ She wondered, remembering the last good night of sleep she had. In the darkness his eyes were shining, looking at everywhere but her. What was he thinking? Was he wishing he was Robb, the brother she would seek for bad dreams and hurt feelings? She certainly wanted to be Arya to take that hurt from his eyes that was there far too often. A dark cloud that would hide his gaze whenever he would be reminded of his brothers, and his death… And that sometimes would make him trash about in front of her tent...

When he finally made to move away, she clutched his hand tighter. "Stay," She asked with every bit of courage she had. Slowly, she moved aside, opening space in her furs for him to lie down, almost fearing that he would leave.

He didn't.

There was no hint of his feelings as he did her bidding, laying by her side as stiff as a log.

Sansa simply kept his hand in hers as she stared at his profile, memorizing the lines of his long face, the bags under his eyes, and the beard he was growing. _I can be myself with you, and not fear_ for _it._ She hoped he could feel the same for her.

"Close your eyes Jon" She asked, closing her own as he relaxed. The nightmares didn't seem so scary. As she faded into sleep, her last thought was that everything would be fine with him by her side.


	11. JON III

**JON**

* * *

The people gathered at the edge of every little village, guides came to them out of their own volition and women and children saw their passage in a cold day, watching silently all the way to the first hall of the first clan of the mountain.

It was, surprising.

Wherever they went, people seemed aware that there was a Stark in their midst and Jon couldn't help but be happy for her. She sat tall in her mount the whole time, his old cloak at her shoulders and a silver direwolf roaring at the chess of her deep blue dress. Her hair was placed in a long braid running down over her shoulder, her eyes glittering under the cold morning sun. When his eyes were not on her they would drift to the canyons, and falls and stone walls carving the snow covered paths around the mountains and to the valleys they would seek help in, urging their mounts forward as he scanned for any possible danger.

"We should have banners" Sansa mourned one morning, after passing another such place.

"We have Ghost, I think that is enough" And indeed the direwolf seldom left their side on their journey, becoming a visible symbol of who she was.

Behind them, trailed a small column of guards, free folk that Jon trusted enough to act properly before the clans. If they could convince the clans to fight with them, then the rest of the North surely might do so as well. With that in mind he had chosen Torreg the Tall, Soren Shieldbreaker and Leathers whom had followed him from Castle Black, and Jon was glad that he hadn't had time to swear his oath back then. Black Maris had come with one more spearwife, while the rest were warriors picked by Val for been a reasonable lot. Together he was confident he had found a perfect show of whom the free folk were as a people and he hoped it would be enough.

The Flints were the first clan to sight and receive them. He and Sansa were feasted briefly by the Old Flint, even as he and his warriors eyed the free folk with contempt and, in some cases, hate.

"My lord" Sansa had stepped in as soon as presentations were made, Jon standing by her side and slightly behind. It was only proper. "I know we have hard discussions ahead. Our journey was harsh and our guards kept us safe for a long way, they are tired and hungry as much as we are, even if we do not wish to abuse of your hospitality."

Jon had watched fascinated. She had given the man an out and yet put the free folk as been equals in their conditions while praising their work. He was more surprised that the Old Flint was convinced by her words, flattered as she complimented his home and his daughters. He was even made to dance with them briefly, for Sansa's obvious delight. Their guards earned a small meal outside, which he suppose was better than be killed.

The Old Flint's words were more than welcome as well.

"I'm glad to finally see you, my men have reported of your army for some time now."

"You've been watching us my lord?" Jon had asked, making the question as easy as possible so he wouldn't offend the man.

"I have, the eyes of the North have been turned to the last Starks with eagerness." He spoke under the soft crackling of the fire. "Rumors have been spreading recently. They started many moons ago, and it spoke of a great crime, and a greater sin. They came of men walking out of the swamps, wolves all of them, eager to gather. Once I realized your route, I sent word ahead, to as many clans as could be heard, and they, in turn, turned their voices to the North and those who remember."

Jon saw Sansa nodding thorough the conversation, and dared not to disturb her hope. When they had first argued about marching, she spoke eagerly about the northerners' loyalty, and yet he dared not to speak otherwise.

The northerners were loyal yes, but there was more than loyalty at stake for many as well.

After that, they moved on, gathering chiefs and sons along the way, finally meeting the Old Bucket in his own hall, a big wooden construction at the foot of a high peak, decorated with skulls of bears and wolves, old swords and rusted shields.

The First Flints, the Wulls, the Norreys, the Knots, the Burleys, the Harclays and Liddles, they all felt competitive towards one another, but they all gathered in that hall now. The Wull made an effort, Jon had seen, to make as big a feast as possible, showing his wealthy and generosity to Ned Stark's children. Their guard of free folk,was again allowed to eat outside, leaving only Jon, Sansa and Ghost amongst boisterous stories and laughter and meat and mead.

He had watched her the whole night, when he could. He realized very quickly that she was not at easy talking with that many men so close, but before he could do anything, Ghost was suddenly at her side and his sister was again composed through the rest of the night.

She would always talk with each men, giving them her full attention. She asked after their sons and daughters, their wives and people, sneaking words about Winterfell and their father along the conversation as if it was second nature. Jon himself gave news of the Wall, of the realm, and of the free folk, to those who would listen. Mostly though he was asked about Ghost, about Longclaw and coming strategies. He complimented those men bravery when he could, even danced again at some point, though he was relieved when the feast ended and they could retire, with the Wull promising to make a proper meeting once all the guests arrived. Who those guests were, it remained to be seen.

"I'll leave Ghost with you" He told her that night, knowing it wouldn't be fine to sleep close in the hall. She had nodded resignedly, offered him a small smile and disappeared with the wolf at her side.

It still confused him how this could be, but still they never adressed these sleeping habits that were slowly emerging between them. Jon himself felt safe not talking about, for if he did, he would have to recognize it was wrong, and that was bound to hurt him somehow.

That night he slept fretfully, trashing and turning on his bed, the shadows seeming to be laughing and mocking him with the raucous of a distant feast, until morning came and he found himself staring at the canopy as the light appeared on his window. Splashing some water to his face, he tied his hair back and hoped he didn't look tired when he went to find her, her quarters a private small place close to the Wull's own chambers. He knocked and was greeted by Sansa, wrapped in his old cloak in the cold morning. She had a fire burning in the room, and furs draped in what resembled a bed. Ghost was curled on the floor, eyes closed and Sansa moved to what she must have been doing when he came, brushing her fingers on the direwolf's fur.

"He will become lazy"

"He deserves it" She replied tenderly and Jon wondered if she felt Lady's absence more or less. He knew how it was to lose that connection only if temporarily. Then her face morphed into something else at his sight. "You look dreadful..."

"Good enough for them I hope"

"Jon."

"I didn't sleep well" He said quickly. "I hope you did better"

"I did" She stared at him for some time, while he begged her not to ask, he didn't want to talk about it, much less have this conversation when they were about to speak with the lords. "Do you know what you're going to say?"

"Some of it" He answered, releasing a sigh. "They seemed eager enough to fight the Boltons last night, they are only angered about the free folk."

"Did you check on our guards?"

"Sleeping soundly, I think Maris took a man under her furs last night" He bit at his lip, when women were involved it seemed some men didn't care about what side of the Wall they came from. "Apparently he had a fight with her last night, and he stole her without realizing it."

"That must have been interesting" He saw her lips curling lightly in the morning light. "You will try to convince them about the Others"

"Aye"

"It will be hard" She warned.

"It seems the best course, the threat on the Wall will convince them to put differences aside, no matter what."

"I know Jon, but we shouldn't convince them through fear" Sansa warned, and he blinked. "I know what it does to alliances been build on fear, as soon as the fear looses its grip they will be all sharpening their swords again. It should be more than a promise of a fight that keeps them together."

"That depends on the fight" He retorted. Winter friends are friends for life, someone had told him once. Jon was sure he could get these men to fight together once they started to share a shield wall. "And if they don't, they have Lady Stark to answer to..."

He tried, hoping it would cheer her up, but her face was like a mask of ice and it was hard to tell her real thoughts right then. It happened way too often and it unnerved him more than he liked. Whenever they would find themselves alone and talk over small things, she would relax, and yet other times she seemed entirely disturbed by that and would fall into that mask again.

 _She doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve any longer_. He thought. _Unless she was waking up from a nightmare._ He had his own nightmares to fight. Daggers in the dark, and tear stained faces. As she rose, her hair again braided and brushed, she walked by his side, and they moved to the great hall to break their fast.

Their slow morning, turned into surprise when the delegation first arrived.

The first thing that caught Jon's eye was the banners. The bear of House Mormont, the iron fist of House Glover against the red cloth, House Hornwood's banner was there as well. Little Lyanna Mormont was the most obvious from the group, a girl no older than Arya, guarded by a bald and broad shouldered warrior with the bear sigil on his armor. An older man was riding ahead, the Glover fist at his tunic, his face seeming grave and angry at first sight. Jon saw there was someone else besides the lord, a mature face he found familiar but his clothes were fading and dirty and he could barely see anything against the red he was baring. There was a lad riding behind them, and other small lords of grey beards and severe faces he only recognized because of the sigils. Mazin, Ashwood, Lakes, Forrester and other small houses from the woods and the coast.

"My Lord" Robett Glover said first, as it was the costume, before eying him and Sansa over the table.

"I welcome you to my hall, my lords" Old Bucket said, and Jon could see the pleasure he had at receiving them in his home. "If you allow me, my lady?" He questioned Sansa. His sister didn't seem startled, it was a good show of loyalty to ask her.

"Of course, my lord"

"To you, I offer hospitality and to share my table if you wish so." He said as salt and bread were brought and the guests filled the tables.

"My Lady" Jon said when the girl found his side. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

She took a pause, and Jon saw her brow furrowing. "You're Lord Snow..."

"Aye..."

"You were Lord Commander at the Wall last time I checked, asking for men and supplies to fight Others"

Jon nodded, taking a small breath.

"Aye My Lady, the threat of the Others is very real."

"Then shouldn't you be there, watching out for them? What is the Lord Commander doing so far south I wonder?" She questioned, the man at arms by her side whispered something to her ear, and she nodded. "I've seen my mother execute a deserter once, took his head."

"My vows were fulfilled" He explained vaguely, it wouldn't do to reveal too much.

"Were they now?" She questioned, eying her food. "Word arrived quickly at Bear Island, words of a Lady Stark"

"My sister wrote to you."

"Yet I only see Lady Bolton" She took a look at the other side of the table, where Jon saw what seemed like a relieved smile at Lord Glover's face as Sansa spoke to him. "Or is it Lady Lannister?"

"She is a Stark my lady."

"She is not, and neither are you, so for whom am I fighting?" The question was uttered without courtesy or subtle words. It almost took Jon off guard, but he was too used to take the free folk been blunt to be so.

"I don't know my lady, but you must, otherwise why would you be marching?"

"Excuse me?"

"It takes a whole day to take small boats to the coast from Bear Island, and at least a moon's turn to reach these halls from that point. Lady Stark sent that raven at least a moon's turn ago, which means you were either on the way or ready to leave."

He wondered if the Lady would say anything else, but after nodding and listening to her counsel man one more time, they eat in silence.

That afternoon he was allowed to use the courtyard with a few young warriors, and he was glad by the exercise, moving the wooden sword against a moving target was enough to clear his head and let out his frustration. He was annoyed by Lyanna Mormont's words, fearful of the meeting that was coming closer, tired of not sleeping… He hit the sword against the young man's arm and he cried out letting go his weapon.

 _Had Robb_ seeing _the same thing when he caught me like that the first time?_

Sighing, he showed the young man how to defend himself properly, demonstrating the movements slowly, and went back to training. Later he cleaned himself with a cloth and a basin of water, dressed in the leathers of house Stark, and the cloak Sansa had made for him. For him… the thought sent a jolt of renewed warmth inside him, as he traced the stamped direwolf on the front. It was too much for a bastard, but he would take it.

"Come in..." She said when he met her again in her quarters.

"My lady, I came to escort you to the hall" He said formally and she gave him a small smile.

"Don't call me that..."

"It is the proper way to call you" He needed her to see this. "I need to show them."

"No you don't, my lord"

"I'm not a lord"

Jon frowned when she released a sigh, her shoulders sagging. "What if it was for the best that you were?"

"I don't follow you"

She turned to look at him, her blue eyes were frozen, she was ready for a fight. "Maybe you need to be Lord of Winterfell, Jon."

"No" He said before he could even think.

"Jon, listen to me."

"I won't have it" He insisted. "Winterfell is yours, Sansa, I won't have any other way. You're the trueborn daughter of the north, it is how it should be"

"Then tell me Jon, of how many Ladies of Winterfell have you known of, that ruled without a man?" She questioned and Jon had to shake his head. She had always been good at history, far better than him. Jon could name many great battles over the thousands of years the Starks ruled the North, and almost every step of the Young Dragon's dornish campaign, but his memory was far off when it came to rulers and their lives.

"Serena and Sansa Stark..."

"Had to marry to retain their rights." Sansa said quickly. "As soon as Ramsay dies Jon, every lord out there will try to get me to marry again, either to themselves or their sons."

"I won't let that happen"

"You won't if you become a lord as well" She said flatly, biting her lip. "It wouldn't be hard you know, even now, these lords look to you when they have questions, they look to you for command. Do you know what Lord Glover told me this morning? He thanked me for seeing to his children's release and asked me when he can met with you in private to talk strategy."

He shook his head, feeling as if he had been pierced again. Lady Lyanna's words echoing in his head even now.

"I'm not a Stark"

Feet stepped up to him, an uncovered hand of flesh touched his skin, while another nudged him to look at her.

"I'm not going to make you do this, but whether you accept or not, you have to know that to me you're as true a Stark as there ever was."


	12. SANSA V

**I'm not sure how much I truly liked this chapter, I felt many times like I was repeating something I read in other fics out there, and as is goes i can recal reading similar scenes in two or three other places and I tried really hard to get this as original as possible and yet, keep the natural progression of the story.**

 **Please enjoy it XD**

 **On a side note, i would love to have a beta for this story, is anyone is interested please let me know**

* * *

 **SANSA V**

* * *

"I won't fight beside Wildling scum!" Brandon Norrey shouted, his son was called Brandon as well, so the father was mostly known as the Norrey.

"They are no trustworthy, Stark girl" Old Flint agreed after Jon spoke of the army they already had.

"We could let them in the vanguard!" Another man shouted from the back.

"And have someone call me a coward?! Bloody no!" Brandon Norrey, the son, answered. Sansa looked up, trying to gouge the reaction from others, but Robett Glover and Lyanna Mormont were silent, the small houses as well. This was not their main issue, she realized. They will have qualms though, of that she was certain.

"They are fighting for us." Jon said after asking for silence. Sansa watched him. He was standing from his place in the high table, dressed in Stark leathers and his new cloak, his voice had been speaking for some time now, and she could tell was growing weary of the argument. "I know many of you hold grievances against them. I know, but those grievances won't change our reality, that Winter is Coming! That we, the living, all of those with warm blood in their veins must be together to survive!"

"Aye, the Long Night, but how do we know it to be true, Snow?" The Big Bucket questioned heavily, his eyes held interest, his posture was leaning forward. Sansa could tell he actually wanted to be convinced.

A sudden movement drew her attention and that of the rest of the room. Torren Liddle had raised then, he was The Liddle. "My son, Ducan, has sent me a letter, it came with Lord Snow, he speaks of those same things, and I'm inclined to believe him."

"Letters have been sent by Stannis Baratheon as well, many and more, claiming the same" Lord Mazin reminded everyone.

"We all received many word from the Wall." Lord Ashford explained needlessly.

"And many deserters" Torghen Flint reminded before his eyes settled on Jon.

Sansa drew a breath, schooling her face to show nothing as she watched Jon pursing his lips together. Little Lyanna Mormont was listening to something her captain was saying, Lord Glover blinked. Careful Jon, she tried to tell him with her eyes, then her brother was speaking.

"It is the truth my lords, you should know this fight is not only for House Stark, is not only for justice to be done on the North, it is also for us to preserve it." His voice rose. "The Others are coming, and the Wall must be defended at any cost. You have all received the calls from the watch, my lords. There are many things coming from beyond the Wall, and Winter is Coming. To get through it, the North must be united."

"The North is currently united under House Bolton" Lord Glover pointed out even as the hall was filled with grumbling noises.

"Is it, my lord?" Jon questioned, turning to him. "The Night's Watch knows the Wall must be held, Stannis Baratheon knew the Wall should be held. House Bolton doesn't! All House Bolton does is sow discord!"

"House Stark has the oath from your house doesn't it, Lord Glover?" Sansa questioned.

"Your father and your brother had the oath from House Glover." There was a flash of something going through the man's eyes as he spoke.

"And now they are not here anymore, and whose fault is that?" She finished and her voice never wavered. "Will you, my good lords, remain away from the fight because of the wildlings?"

"They steal and rape!" A young Wull claimed with his brows furrowed.

"Many of my men lost daughters and wives to wildling raiders." The Liddle said disapprovingly.

Sansa watched the murmurs of agreement starting again, and even saw Lord Glover frowning. This was not good, she realized.

"My Lords!" She spoke, rising to her feet, the hall fell silent. Ghost moved to sit by her side, standing almost at her shoulder. Her hand caressed the pony-sized beast tenderly, as she glanced around the hall. They needed a push, she decided. "The wildlings might not be your first option as friend, but it doesn't change the fact they were the first to come to our aid when asked." She stated calmly, turning to Jon. "My brother, Jon Snow rescued them, their lives, from the terrors beyond the Wall. We came here seeking a friendship even older and stronger, for the sake of the North and for justice as well." She looked around the hall then. "There were many of your own at the Red Wedding! Are we going to stand idle as the North becomes a reward for traitors? As the North is threatened from every corner, enemies from North and South?"

The word made a hush fall on the hall, and Sansa could hear the flickering torches like hisses from angry beasts. they started talking yet again, murmurs erupting here and there across the hall as she sought out words of support amongst the cacophony. She was startled when a fist hit the table, Jon spun around reaching for his sword, it was with surprise she found the Big Bucket settled in an angry scow directed to the rest to the men.

"I won't let it be said that a bunch of wildlings fought for Ned's girl while I did nothing!" The Big Bucket had shouted, drawing a greatsword from his back. "I say we show those savages how we kill Boltons!"

"We made an oath!" Toghen Flint spoke loudly, bowing to them.

"Justice!" Shouted the Norrey.

"House Glover will stand with House Stark!" Lord Glover said bowing to her and Jon.

And then the rest followed, all the clans shouting for them, drawing swords and maces and axes, and the shouts of "Stark!" had filled the hall around them. When Sansa clasped her hand in his own, she allowed herself to feel the waves of joy, with the warmth radiating from him.

Lord Glover smiled at her as he promised the swords and spears from the Wolfswood to her cause, his words from earlier been a veiled agreement she had made yesterday. "We thank you, my lord." She said back.

Larance Snow came next, and the other small lords, and clansmen, all wanting a private word, many coming to Jon for actual conversation, asking him questions about Winterfell, and battle plans. She watched as he answered everything in minimum details and yet with the knowledge of a warrior. He showed certainty and leadership, she had to wonder how he couldn't see it as she did. That these men came to her for her kind words and sought him out for real leadership. Suddenly his gray eyes met hers for a moment, and she caught his smile. A smile like that could drive some ladies mad, she thought bemused and suddenly sad.

Sansa was somewhat thankful when she felt a small form walking towards them, her brow furrowed, her voice leveled so only her and Jon could hear as the hall filled with coming and going servants, to bring meat and mead and bread.

After stretching the silence, Lyanna Mormont finally spoke. "So is the North to rally under the bastard or the Lady Lannister? But you're a Bolton as well, aren't you?"

Sansa stared right back at the little girl, reminding herself of her own age once, long ago. She admired her bravery at that moment, it was certainly admirable that she would speak these words in this hall, even in whispers, it took courage to do such a thing. Courage that, Sansa felt, spoke more than just her own ambition. "I am Sansa Stark, my lady, and if you intend to refuse us, do it by speaking my name properly" She says now, seeing the small twitch in the girl's expression, feeling strength from Jon's eyes on her back, she keeps going. "I can understand where you're coming from, my lady. A family torn apart by war, responsibilities falling upon you from every corner, and now you must think of your own people. And I must do the same, for my brother speaks truly." She takes a small breath, turning her gaze to the girl's eyes. "If you believe House Bolton will come to your aid when needed, then feel free to join them. If you believe the murders they commited beside the Freys should go unpunished, then so be it. If you believe that this is truly the best to your people, that you had enough war, that you must protect them now, then I, as Sansa of House Stark, promise you now there will be no ill thought from my part, but I must ask you to decide now."

When she finishes she is staring right at the girl. There was a pause in the wind, as she hears the master-at-arms taking a breath, probably ready to speak, but Lady Lyanna stops him, still measuring her up. What she sees Sansa can't tell, but the girl looks at her, then at Jon.

"What you speak of the Others."

"It is the truth my lady" Jon says gravely staring at her eyes for a long time, until the girl seemed satisfied. She chances a glance at her companions, seeming coming to a decision of her own, her eyes shining with a glimmer of steel.

"House Mormont will honor their oath, Lady Stark."

Later, much later, Sansa found herself smothered with attention. Men came to compliment her beauty and make promises until her head buzzed and everything seemed numb. The heat increased as warm food and fire and bodies began to mix and dance. Her skin grew damp from sweat and greasy when it dried out. It was only due to Ghost that she managed to squeeze herself out of the hall, leaving behind the heat from the fires and bodies alike. Outside the cold air kissed her skin, like a welcome hug, and she allowed herself the respite, feeling Ghost's eyes at her side.

From the heavy doors she could have glimpses of the courtyard, where food had been served as well, she could even see their guards, a dozen wildlings eating huddled in a small group away from the rest. Sansa came to know their names in their journey. Torreg, was Tormund's son a fine young man, more solemn than his father. Soren Shieldbreaker was a leader of men and a great warrior Jon said, but Sansa could see his trust laid most with Leathers, the man always ready to be blunt, but still polite all the same. She realized how strange it was that they separated themselves from the rest. She knew it would be hard work to unite both sides, but it's never too soon to start.

Walking across the place, Sansa fixed her posture, ignoring the weight of her cloak all together, while Ghost stayed by her side, the direwolf's presence served to keep her fears at bay. It was always hard for her to be alone, close to so many strange men, even as she sought strength from her name and her station. _I'm a Lady… I'm Stark…_

Conversation seized as the wildlings caught sight of her, Black Maris, and Mallah, the only spearwives, barely looking up from the stew.

"I hope you're being well treated" She offered with a smile.

"Everything fine by now, lady wolf" Leathers explained. "Except for this ale they drink, piss more likely."

Soren Shieldbreaker barked a laugh. "Aye, piss and water, nothing like our goat's milk over here"

Sansa smiled as the conversation moved to that topic, catching the curious gazes from the clansmen, and men-at-arms. "Would you be interested to share it then?"

"Lady wolf has more courage than her looks tell." Black Maris proclaimed with a laugh. Sansa held back any feeling she might have about them, she knew it was not meant as an insult. She learned a long time ago that titles and compliments seldom showed the true value of a person.

"All yours, wolf lady" Leathers said. She took the skin, and sniffed, shuddering from the scent alone as it burned her nostrils. _Well, I'm already committed to it, ain't I? Mother would be bewildered._ She thought, offering them a smile, as she took a small sip.

It was strong, stronger than anything she drunk before, it burned and went through her, until she was coughing and blinking. The wildlings laughed, although calmly, as she recovered.

"It's is certainly better than ale" She finally declared, feeling her throat burning. They offered her a cheer. "I'm certain many northmen never tasted it as well."

Silence followed her statement, but she was already staring across the yard. Silently, she signaled to a young man, staring back at her. Barely growing a beard, the lad came closer, with scared eyes darting from her to Ghost as he dropped to one knee. The wildlings snickered at the display. She smiled gently.

"This is a gift from the free-folk, share it with your companions, but do be careful, I've tasted it and it is rather strong."

Sometime later she was watching them from afar, the argument about beverages had expanded to fishing and hunting and loud boasting from all sides. Ghost's presence by her side, always watchful was also a great way she found to stomp down the more heated conversations.

"That was impressive" Jon told her and Sansa felt herself beaming.

"Thanks."

Her brother nodded, patting his direwolf. "What you did back there, with Lady Lyanna, that was impressive as well."

"I was not sure it would convince her"

"It did, she had to believe we had more than selfish needs and that our cause was not weak. She needed compassion and harsh truths" Sansa felt the laugh coming slowly. "What?" He asks, his face is confused but curious as well, and she wonders when he became so open. Honestly, she cannot remember him been like this in their youth, at least not with her. She sets those thoughts aside as she tries to explain.

"I just saw a lot of myself in her. She is only taking care of those under her protection, there was nothing impressive about that."

Jon shook his head, his dark hair escaping from his bun, to run over his face. She had an urge to tuck them away, but refrained her hands from moving out of her cloak's warmth. "You are impressive Sansa, you made those men talk" He said pointedly.

"You've been talking to them for far longer, if they listened to me at all was because of you"

"I merely made them arm wrestle, instead of trying to kill each other" He said pointedly. She gave him no answer, for in her mind Sansa doubted his words. Surely they were good, but Jon was a leader. She saw it the moment he started talking individually with each man, taking their grievances and complaints and judging them fairly enough. If he lacked some subtlety it was good in some senses as well.

"Have you tried that?" She questioned as another man-at-arm fell prey to the wildling brew.

"Aye" He answered exasperate. "That thing can burn your stomach through"

"Oh, it wasn't that bad." She laughed at his raised eyebrows and shook her head, a small delightful sound escaping his own lips, smoking in the cold night. It was almost like Winterfell again, laughter had sounded much like this in her memories. Maybe it is a sign that home is closer now, she thought watching Jon's gray eyes glimmering. Or maybe we found a different sort of home altogether.

"Jon?"

"Aye?"

"You have a battle plan?" She waited, listening to the distant chat. Jon leaned back where he sat, his gaze following the stars on the rare clear skies above.

"I do, although I can't be sure of how well it can be done. For one, we don't know how many men Bolton will have with him. His forces are nearly intact. If you are sure about the Dustins and Ryswells, he can get a thousand men from them and maybe two thousand if he seeks out the Freys. He will have more horsemen than we do, but the free-folk all know how to use a bow…" His voice trailed off, and she saw him scooting over, taking a stick and cleaning space on the ground. "The only thing I know for sure, is that we have to get them out of Winterfell… But I don't know how to do that…"

"What happens if they leave the castle?"

"Well, If I were Bolton, I would take the ridge right in front of Winterfell, the high ground would give an advantage to who claims it, and it stands almost in the reach of any bowmen standing on the walls for a possible retreat." He drew a line where the ridge should be. "If that is the case, I would use the free-folk as a sort of bait. If our scouts are good enough, they won't know the size of our army until the time comes, and I hope to keep it that way sending the freefolk into the woods and snow. In the battle the freefolk would then stand at the edge of the wolfswood, ready for a retreat. When the Boltons move for the kill, the clansmen will spring the trap, coming from the trees left and right… I would close them at the edge of the forest and, if we can gather enough support, use our cavalry as few as we can get to cut their retreat to Winterfell…"

Sansa nodded, staring at the arrows and lines he was drawing, trying to see the battle in her mind's eye. She knew nothing about battles, but as far as she could gather, it seemed like a sound plan. It almost reminded of how Tyrion had used his wildlings against Stannis, placing them in the woods where their fighting was better suited. Jon was counting on the same thing, except there was something lacking in his plan, something she felt she shouldn't bring up just yet… Maybe he already knew…

It didn't matter though, in the end it was just like her father used to say... The Winters are harsh, but the Starks endure...


	13. BRIENNE

**BRIENNE**

* * *

 _Do your duty._

Once she dreamed of Renly, but lately she dreams of Jaime more.

It is funny what people think of before battle, and apparently she was not immune to it. Whether there would be a battle in the future or not. Of course, she could always go away. Her oath was not to this castle after all, neither to those rivers she had once watched beside a Lady with auburn hair, but still, while there was a chance that her words would be heard, she would stay firm and fulfill it to the best of her ability. Brienne of Tarth had stared at those blue eyes and those features that sometimes still reminded her of Lady Catelyn and made a vow over soft autumn's snows and so she would follow.

She followed it even as she and Pod were scouted through a Lannister camp by Lannister men.

The tent she was brought to was the largest of the camp, a monstrous thing of red and gold, decorated with banners in every corner. Guards were posted before the entrance and around the place. Lannisters, everyone of them. Whatever alliance the Freys and the Lannisters had it didn't involve sharing the same camp. After a long moment of whispers and messages, she was finally escorted inside the tent after offering Pod a comforting gaze when he was left behind.

Ser Jaime was waiting inside, behind a long crude table. She could see a map of the nearby lands and Riverrun spread over it, held down by cups of gold and a tankard of wine which had obviously been shared for a while.

A young blond man frowned at her direction, while two young weasel like remained sited, the sigil of Twins blaring on their chests. Brienne let her eyes remain on Jaime though. He looked good, and yet tired. Hi short hair had grown a little since last time she saw, while the wisps of a beard had grown around his chin. He was dressed in a loose dark tunic, with red breaches and boots. Not at all ready for storming a castle, she noticed, relieved.

"Who are you?" The young man questioned, but Brienne kept quiet. She was not sure of how safe it was to talk before those men, and her heart was beating too fast to think. Words were never her trade. "Answer me woman or you..."

"No need for that, dear cousin of mine." Jaime said rising. "Leave us, all of you"

Once they had been alone, Brienne had felt the heat rising to her cheeks, her will the only thing keeping her feet from moving nervously around. When Jaime offered her wine, she actually accepted. This was not suppose to be work for her. She was a knight, or at least as close to one as she could get but there, now, words were a work better suited for a Lady, one whose lessons hadn't been a waste.

"I found her"

The words sprung from her mouth like a pledge and a comfort. Your oath is fulfilled, your honor is safe, were the words she kept to herself. Jaime's reaction was puzzling. He seemed to grasp her meaning immediately, his eyes darting to the ground as if in regret.

"I'm glad..." He nodded. "I always thought the girl was mostly dead."

"Why would you assume that?"

"In my experience children like her don't last very long out there"

"I don't think she has been a child for a long time" That was the most clear around every fact. That Sansa Stark was far from a child now, far from innocent dreams. And so am I in a way…

 _Do your duty._

Brienne repressed a shiver.

"Well, I'm proud of you. You fulfilled your oath to Catelyn Stark against all odds. Of course my sister wants Sansa Stark dead, the girl is still suspected of Joffrey's murder so there is that complication…" Brienne played with the liquid in her cup, barely a sip left. She was not suited to talk about these sorts of things. "What are you doing here?"

 _My duty._ "I've come for the Blackfish."

Jaime scoffed. "You're welcome to have him."

"Lady Sansa wishes to take her ancestral home back from the Boltons and assume her rightful position as Lady of Winterfell."

Jaime sipped his wine, his eyes seemed tired almost pitying. "With what army does she plan to take Winterfell?"

Northerners and Wildlings, giants and skinchangers. "There is one inside Riverrun"

"They're a bit occupied at the moment." He answered dryly. "I've come here to reclaim Riverrun, which is currently defended by the Tully rebels. So you can see the conundrum."

"The Tullys are rebels because they are fighting for their home?"

"Riverrun was given to the Freys by Royal Decree."

"As a reward for betraying Robb Stark and slaughtering his family."

"Exactly." His shoulder's lowered and he sat down. Brienne licked her lips feeling the tension in the air. She could understand loyalty and honor, but there was nothing understandable about demanding honor in the same of something as hideous as the Red Wedding. Jaime sighed. "We shouldn't talk about politics."

No they shouldn't. Her words would be useless in that field. She was not a lady like her father deserved, otherwise she might actually have some power here, all she had was her honor.

 _Do your duty._

"You're a knight Ser Jaime." She said almost in a whisper. For a moment she thought she had succeeded, for Jaime smiled, but immediately she saw it was something pained and ugly.

"Don't ask me to betray my own house."

 _No! that is not…._ "I'm doing no such thing!" She said startling him in her hurry. "I...I-I can help you… You made an oath against fighting Tullys and Starks, and you were ordered to… to take the castle… Allow me to enter Riverrun under a truce. I'll persuade Ser Brynden to give up the castle. Take Riverrun without bloodshed. March south again with your mission complete and your army intact." _And your honor._

"Why would he abandon his ancestral home?"

"Because you'll allow him to march the Tully forces safely North."

Jaime smirked. "Have you ever met the Blackfish?"

"No"

"He is even more stubborn than you are." He raised his head and Brienne met those green emerald eyes, the same eyes that haunted her dreams and made for uncomfortable mornings trying to hide her indiscretions from Pod. Dreams that a warrior shouldn't have. Finally he looked away "All right try to talk some sense into the old goat. He won't listen, but his men might. Not everybody wants to die for someone else's home."

"I need your word."

Jaime hesitated. "You have it and… You have until nightfall"

Brienne nodded, it was better than she hoped and less that she wanted. She had heard once that every good negotiation made both side unhappy, maybe that was the case now. Taking a deep breath, she slowly untangle the straps holding the scabbard at her waist, silently she offered the sword back. For a while Jaime merely stared and then he surprised her again. "Its yours…" His voice was soft "It'll always be yours."

Her cheeks burning, Brienne looked away, clumsily tying it up again. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to leave, but there was one more thing she needed to say, something that had been on her mind ever since she left the North. "One last thing Ser Jaime."

"Yes, Lady Brienne?"

"Should I fail to persuade the Blackfish, and should you storm the castle, honor compels me to fight for Sansa's kin."

He blinked, and she was half afraid he would be mad at her, but he seemed to be expecting that as well, when he answered he sounded resigned. "Of course it does."

 _Do your duty_

And so she had entered Riverrun, delivered a personal message and now, now she was stuck here, unheard. The Blackfish refused to listen and she could only wait on the walls, staring into rising siege towers and trebuchets, while the knight kept his distance.

Her time was over and she had failed, it didn't seem to matter that the Blackfish could see Sansa's handwriting and remember his niece, it didn't seem to matter that he still had family, when Brienne looked at the Blackfish she saw a man with only one goal and the familiarity of it cooled her heart.

"Maybe we could try again, My Lady" Pod shyly said from her said, and she smiled.

"I'm not sure it's gonna do any good Pod"

The squire seemed to be thinking deeply anyway, up until they heard the warnings ringing from the gate. Startled she wondered if the Lannister had somehow sneak up on them, but the noise was not the desperate call for battle. She quickened her pace, coming to the gate just as a group of guards parted to give space to a humbly dressed and tired looking man, his hair was Tully red though and the way the men were behaving gave Brienne a clue of whom he might be.

He called them with an air of authority and the men obeyed, hurriedly bringing to his uncle. Brienne stay behind only for a second, before following suit. Her steps taking her towards the courtyard and beyond, catching a glimpse of the man disappearing on the arch that went to the gardens. There she hesitated.

"My Lady, that is Edmure Tully" Pod suddenly told her, confirming her suspicions. Her heart sunk, there was only one reason for the Lannisters to let Edmure Tully go, and it was not a pleasant one. Summoning her courage Brienne stepped forward to intrude in a family meeting.

"… Over my dead body!"

"Uncle, be reasonable"

"No, you're speaking treason boy"

Silence. Brienne reached the gardens of Riverrun, were once there had been green all around her with the colors of flowers everywhere, now there was worked soil where the Blackfish had been trying to grow a small crop. It was however as bleak as the silence that she found while Edmure Tully locked his shoulders.

"I am the Lord of Riverrun, uncle, no matter what you want, I'm making my decision now"

"You'll give up then? Just like that? What about what those shits did to your sister? To your nephew? Your king?"

Edmure Tully looked away. "What about my wife and my son?"

"That Frey woman..."

"Is my wife no matter what" That silenced the knight for a moment in which Brienne saw the Riverlord taking a deep breath. "They are offering safety for all of us uncle..."

"I'll die before I surrender." That silenced the other man, while she saw a frown brewing on Ser Brynden's face. "You were always too soft hearted you, Edmure, you want to surrender your father's castle, your family's lands to those monsters? Fine, but..."

"My lord" Brienne walked over, catching the gaze of both men. Edmure looked her over in surprise, while the Blackfish seemed annoyed. "If I may, are you really throwing your life away?"

"Who are you?"

"A messenger" Brynden Tully answered. "With an empty offer it seemed, the time you had to convince me is over my Lady, no matter what you want now, my nephew has the current proposal." As if to show what he thought of it he spat on the ground.

She turned to Edmure. "My Lord, I came here with a message from your niece Sansa Stark, asking for help" She delivered her message again, watching his hands shaking as he dazedly took the parchment. "She requests help from her family."

"I cannot help her" The man answered with a broken voice.

"You can, if you agree to surrender and let me talk to Ser Jaime, he will allow you to march North and assist your niece." She was not sure such a thing was even possible, but the words stumbled from her mouth all the same.

The Lord eyes became angry. "I already have everything I could have from the Kingslayer, if you really want me to believe for a second that he would allow such a thing I doubt it."

"That is what I told her"

Brienne saw her hopes crumbling helpless as she stood before those two. She had no idea what Jaime said to bring Edmure Tully here, but the disdain in his voice was one she was afraid there was no breaking.

"D-don't trust him then" A voice spoke shyly looking away when he found himself center of attention. "M-my lords, you don't need to trust him… Y-you just need to live"

"Live?" The Blackfish laughed. "Horseshit, I will die before I negotiate with those murderers."

"Uncle" Edmure refused to meet their eyes. "I beg you to reconsider, my time is close to end and I won't change my mind."

"You have a duty to your people"

"And to my family as well"

 _Do your duty._ The old king had told her in his last breath. The memory was still bitter for her, the taste like ashes in her mouth and something angry and hurt. She had wanted vengeance so badly. Once that had been her one reason to live, to fill the pain she felt after her king died in her arms. But those thoughts were gone, her vengeance was distant. Even the sword she had made her vows upon, Renly's sword, it was gone… _Jaime gave me a new one..._

He gave me a sword and a quest, and in her foolishness she had almost forgotten that.

Her fury had driven her into the wolfswood, her bitterness had carried her under the snow to a battleground and the gods, seeming mockingly, had landed her right in front of Stannis Baratheon, the man whom killed her king with a shadow. A Kinslayer.

She remembered drawing her sword. Jaime's sword. He called it Oathkeeper.

 _Do your duty._ Stannis had told her, and she had remembered.

Gods forgive me, but I almost forgot. What sort of Knight would she be, if she forgot her Lady's daughter, Jaime's honor and everything else to cut down Stannis Baratheon? Do your duty, and gods, she had turned her back to the man and called Pod to get the horses, asking forgiveness the whole time as she turned back to Winterfell.

Maybe the gods had chosen to reward her choice to not kill Stannis, maybe it was a test, or maybe they had been lucky, Brienne couldn't tell. Upon turning back to Wintertown, she had been almost confused with the turmoil around. Pod had gone to the village to investigate, under guise of torn clothes and rags, and he was finally able to figure it out.

"Lady Sansa escaped my lady, they are going after her"

And Brienne had followed them, followed the barking of the dogs and the mounts of the men. She followed them and she fought, and she protect Lady Sansa and made her oath yet again. She could still remember pledging her sword, how her heart had beaten fast, and she had been fulfilled. There was none of that when she was about to strike Stannis, there was none of the accomplishment when Lady Sansa had gazed down at her and heed her words.

I did it Jaime. She remembered thinking. I did Lady Catelyn. I will protect her, I swear.

"Ser Brynden" She tried, because she had to, she couldn't leave this place a failure. "Once I thought just as you do now, my king died in my arms and there was nothing for me but vengeance. I was decided to die if I had to, just so I had the satisfaction of having Stannis' blood on my sword. It was your niece who stopped me Ser, she took my hands and she told the dead had no use my sword, but I could still fight for the living." Oathkeeper slid from her scabbard, startling the two men, but she showed them the blade all the same. "This was once Lord Stark's steel, and now I put it in service of his daughter, his living daughter who still has many fights ahead of her, you can do the same, you can actually help your family now instead of dying an empty selfish death."

When finished, she waited with baited breath, feeling drained and tired. I'm trying my lady, she said. I'm trying.

"Family, Duty, Honor" Edmure Tully whispered, looking over the garden. "I don't trust the Kingslayer, but I was given until sunrise to surrender the castle, and today is a black moon."

Ser Brynden nodded, his eyes seeming ashamed, and yet he spoke loud and clear while Brienne could still hear the whisper of the dead king. Do your duty.

* * *

 **XD**


	14. SANSA VI

**SANSA**

* * *

Sansa took the small kettle away from the fire and slowly poured the tea into a small cup. Putting the kettle away, she grabbed the cup, glad for the warmth in her gloved hands as she paced towards the map still sitting over the table.

Her bright blue eyes raced over the pieces of wood marked with direwolves and flayed men placed on the field. As of a week ago a small twin tower was placed there as well, and she couldn't help but shiver in wondering of the coming day. The fight would be vicious, she knew, if only from the look on Ramsay's eyes during the parlay earlier.

She had brought along only a few small lords and clansmen, joined by Tormund and Dim Dalba representing the wildlings, a small haggard party crowned by a single direwolf banner meant to deceive not intimidate. Jon's whole strategy after all depended on forcing Ramsay out of Winterfell, and that meant hiding their best and most surprising allies, including the men in wraps that had arrived one faithful snowy morning. In fact the most important houses in their part had been Glover and Mormont, while on the other side of the field she glimpsed the Umber giant and the Karstark sunburst flapping on the wind beside the Twin Towers and the Flayed Man.

No one spoke at first, but she felt encouraged when Jon took his mount to stay behind her line, making it clear she was the one in charge. She could've smiled at the thought, for one who claimed to know nothing of politics, Jon had quiet the eye for it. Ramsay, of course, spoke first, his smirk pursing in wormy sick lips, pale eyes empty of anything that wasn't amusement. Staring at the way Smalljon Umber was glaring at the Frey representative, she had to wonder if he was blind.

"My beloved wife" He called out. "Your return is a welcome sight for sore eyes, indeed I'm humbled that such good lords have gone thorough the trouble of bringing you in. Why don't you come inside, our quarters are warm and your husband is hungry for your company."

She did not need to disguise the shiver that run through her skin. "I have not returned to you my lord, I returned to claim what belongs to me by right."

"By right you belong to me"

She frowned, watching his mocking eyes, behind her Jon took a breath. "Are we to understand you wish to give battle?"

"Battle? Well maybe, what do you think?" Ramsay questioned the men behind him, but didn't wait for an answer, turning to pierce Jon with a delighted stare. "Well, if that should happen, that would make it easier for me, since you're all traitors to your rightful lord, are you not? You yourself are a deserter of the Night's Watch, maybe if you surrender and give me back my wife I would offer you a quick death."

"How about a fight then?" Jon voice claimed stronger than before. "Thousands of men don't need to die, only one of us. Let's have single combat and let the gods decide."

"Oh, that would be very convenient, the bastard leads a small army of savages and thinks he can fight a high lord..."

"Am I to understand you refuse?" Sansa said cutting him out, and she saw the dangerous glint of annoyance crossing his eyes.

"Refuse? I'm merely meant to be merciful… Sansa..."

"Theon did say you were a coward." She said the words with such a calm voice Ramsay, for a moment, didn't seem to understand. Enjoying the advantage a little too much she kept talking. "Ramsay Snow, If you refuse to negotiate the terms of your surrender and to fight in single combat, then as Lady of Winterfell, I would here bye sentence you to death, for the crimes committed against the North and your liege."

"Crimes?" This was the Frey, a weasel face moving ahead of the party. "There was no crime, Lord Bolton saved my father's life from you northern monsters, Robb Stark's savagery broke the hospitality of my house."

It was as if a sudden rush of cold wind blew out the fires around them, in that moment Sansa thought Smalljon might actually kill the Frey right then and there, even Arnolf Karstark who had been throwing her nasty looks seemed uncomfortable. Behind her, her own bannermen seemed about to loose it, until she spoke again.

"It's funny you should mention Lord Bolton, since I don't see him close."

"My father, unfortunately, fell..."

"On your knife?" Her words were shrill, and Sansa had to allow a tiny smirk at the way his eyes gleamed. This was dangerous, foolish even. If the battle turned against them, he would surely plan something evil to torture her, but Sansa was committed. It's not like I shall allow him to take me alive. "Tomorrow at dawn you will leave Winterfell and kneel before my army, you will consent to the annulment of our marriage and present yourself for trial. Otherwise your life shall be forfeit immediately. Sleep Well."

She nodded back at her party, and turned her mount around, riding back to the woods. She was already close to the tree line when she realized Jon had stayed behind for a moment. Obviously Ramsay had taken him to pour out his anger, and bye the look on her half-brother's eyes it was not pleasant, but then again nothing about having their lives in the balance was pleasant.

In a way she understood the temptation of calling it a game, making the whole picture seem more harmless than it actually, but even when the word touched her lips she wouldn't allow herself to misunderstand the consequences. She knew them well, in her body and soul, and she played it with that threat like a blanket around her shoulders.

Of course, if her success had been definitive, Sansa would know only by morning. She stared back at the table and sipped from the tea, it tasted sour and sharp and it worked to wake her up. Slowly the lords trickled inside, one by one. Tormund and Dim Dalba for the Wildlings, Lady Mormont, Lord Glover, Big Bucket Wull and finally, the lasted addition to their army, a man wearing red, recently shaved and long haired.

Ser Kyle Condon offered her a small bowl. "Your Grace"

"Ser Kyle"

She did her best to remain stoic, the title was not one she had wanted, neither it was something she thought about. In fact no one else seemed to refer to her as such, but when the knight had emerged from the snows, bringing news of survivors from Robb's army sneaking around Moat Callin through the swamps, he had fallen to a knee and reminded everyone her brother had been a king.

A deed worthy of being retold one day, although her gladness had been much more present by the news of reiforcements.

Two thousand men, Ser Kyle assured her… Two thousand stark men to even the odds.

After realizing that winter and supplies wouldn't allow them to wait for word from Lord Manderly or Riverrun, it was more of a miracle that they would dare to hope.

Finally Jon arrived, and the chatter quieted down, for although Ser Kyle might call her queen, it was clear whom the Lords favored as a leader, the man who had been discussing their coming battle in endless meetings, walking and training men by day and had always a word of acknowledgment to give them. She only needed to watch his eyes and the resentment she felt budding inside was quickly quenched. If they survived long enough, Jon would deserve everything and more.

"My Lords" he spoke marching to the head of the table, where he pulled a chair for her. Sansa suppressed a sight, and accepted, exchanging a weary glance that clearly amused him as he remained on his feet, looking over the map. "If you allow me, I would talk plans for tomorrow."

And so he did.

Lines were drawn, shields and spears were lined with tree lines, archers were placed in blocks and hidden in the Wolfswood, scouts would be sent out, their small cavalry was split and distributed, and signals were agreed upon in the quiet black tent. In a briefing without beer or fat meals, with soft questions and strong resolve, the solemnity of it all almost made Sansa think herself in a song, a brave song of outnumbered heroes fighting a strong foe.

"The plan is good, but we still need him out of Winterfell, and you have to pardon me Lord Snow, but I don't see how that will happen."

"You went to the parlay my lord" Jon said, looking over Robett Glover, with news of his brother being alive, he was once again a castelan, but Jon and Sansa both kept the title alive. "You saw how Ramsay behaved."

"Ramsay Snow is not Lord Bolton" Ser Kyle agreed.

"True, but he is also not a fool, we could starve before he does." Brandon Norrey pointed out. "He already tried to burn our supplies."

"And we stopped him" Jon said referring to the attack they suffered in the night. After Stannis' fall, Jon had taken no chances with the security around their camp, digging trenches, putting torches and doubling the guard. The corpses of Ramsay's men were still out there to be spit upon by their army, a sight their lords said was necessary but that Sansa tried to avoid anyway. "He attacked Stannis in the open when he thought him weak, and we did everything to make him believe that, our scouts kept him blind and at the parlay he only saw what we wanted him to see."

"He is also sheltering a great many men inside Winterfell, an army that big won't last long in close quarters, even less with Freys close by." Ser Kyle said agreeing.

"That would still mean holding a cavalry charge head on." Lord Glover said.

"Aye, we can take it" Tormund laughed. "Who would've thought all you southerners worried about us"

"We are part of the same army" Lady Mormont explained, her pale completion settled by her furrowed brow. Sansa had heard the young girl's mother was alive with the survivors, but her demeanor hadn't changed one bit with the news. "But I don't think they have a point, Ramsay might not take the bait to go after Lord Snow."

"He seemed angry enough earlier" Dim Dalba pointed out.

"Angry is one thing, the decision to attack an army to kill a bastard is another" Lord Glover told him looking apologetically. "Besides, Arnolf and Smalljon are no fools, Bolton needs them and they might persuade him to wait."

Sansa watched Jon falling silent and knew it was her time. She rose from her seat and spoke the fact she had known ever since Jon first voiced his ideas. "Ramsay won't come just for Jon, he will come for me as well."

Silence, the lords looked from one to the other, exchanging glances and nods, she could see clearly that some of them didn't agree, Lord Glover pursed his lips first. "My Lady, the danger..."

"Your Grace, if you offer yourself like that..."

"I won't be offering myself Ser Kyle, I'll be well protected I'm sure" She looked around the table. "You said so yourselves, Ramsay must be goaded to leave Winterfell, there is no better way than to have his wife and her half-brother parading outside his walls with a small and, seeming, unprepared army. I'll be in no more danger than the rest of you."

"Sansa..."

"Jon?" She locked eyes with him, wondering if he would say his mind now, before the lords. She prayed that he saw strength in her, the same strength she admired in his own eyes, and maybe he did, because he suddenly nodded in agreement.

"Lady Stark has a point, she did do everything in her power to anger Ramsay in the Parlay." Gray eyes fell upon her. "You'll have a guard placed around you."

"One just like yours" She saw him flinch and hid away her smile as she glanced over the lords. "You're our battle commander, I'm sure everyone here agrees you must be protected."

A chorus of agreement was followed by yet another discussion.

The lords suggested a thirty men guard, Jon argued them down to twenty, then tried to place forty around her. Sansa just smirked as she pointed out she would be in far less danger than himself and he would need the best men in the battle itself. Finally she had her own twenty men guard and the discussion ceased, the tent growing more and more empty until she was finally alone with Jon.

Her tea had grown cold by the table, the night's wind was now blowing against the tent and Ghost appeared, his muzzle red from blood and appearing happy like anyone would with a full belly. Sansa shook her head, and draped a cloth in the water, cleaning him the best she could when he leaned close to her lap.

"You waited until now so I couldn't say no." He pointed out, more an observation than anything else.

"Had I told you I planned on being there in private, you would argue, and I didn't want that."

"Instead you waited until the council." He said with a sigh, his hand opening and closing on his side. "Had I said anything we would risk being seeing as disagreeing with each other and our leadership would be called into question."

She looked over expecting to see some anger she knew men were prone to, but weirdly Jon was actually smiling, resigned and sorrowful, but smiling nonetheless. "You know is a good plan."

"I know, it doesn't mean I like it." He said looking at the white beast at her side. "You keep him with you"

She stopped, and slowly brushed the cloth around Ghost's fur, the white finally appearing again while he stood silently under her care.

"He would be better suited to the battlefield."

"A battle is no place for a Direwolf."

"Robb had Grey Wind by his side on every battle."

"Sansa" Jon had always seem calm to her, so the way he impatiently barked her name was enough to show his feelings on the matter. His eyes pierced her with cold fire, and Sansa sighed.

"Very well"

"I just want you to be safe"

"Can't I want the same for you?" She rose to her feet. It had been a while since they had been this close, the more they closed on Winterfell, the more they were separated by their duties, certainly there had been no bed sharing as their army grew. It was improper.

"I…"

"If you say you're not as important as the Lady of Winterfell, I swear I'm gonna order you be placed by my side on the battlefield." She threatened.

He blinked. "You wouldn't."

"Are you sure about that?" She said finishing with Ghost, the Direwolf yawned and padded to the bed where he laid down and watched them. It was always amusing to her to see the wolf acting like he owned the place. Maybe he did. Maybe all wolves act like that, and that is why she was so eager to take back her home and her pack. The thought was comforting in a way. Jon's chuckled took her away from her thoughts.

"You're the Queen."

"Only in Ser Kyle's eyes" She pointed out.

"Ser Kyle's and two thousand men and they are right."

"Are they?"

"Aye."

"Jon"

"If you survive, you're still the Queen in the North, as long as you live the fight lives."

"And if I can't escape?" She dared ask, seeing him flinch. "I won't go back there alive Jon."

His face twisted into a grimace, it almost reminded her of Father, but Eddard Stark had a much better control of how he showed his emotions. As much as she believed once that Jon was cold and stoic the truth was far from it, she could see now that she knew the signs, the small movement of his eyes when he was shy, the contained smiles, the suppressed anger and the twitch of his burned hand it was all there. She wondered when he became so clear to her.

"I'll protect you" He whispered, decided, like an oath from a knight.

Sansa could only shake her head stepping so close she could feel his warmth seeping from his clothes, their breaths almost mingled together and for a insane moment Sansa wondered how it would feel to close the space between their lips. It would be only natural after all, a siblings kiss. Robb had kissed her lips before, and she had seen her parents kissing other people like that in shows of affection. Surely Jon was worthy that. It would be a simple touch, and it felt enough to quench the quivering of heat coiling inside her core. Instead she leaned forward, letting their foreheads touch.

"I don't want to be alone anymore Jon"

She felt his own body trembling when he held her. "I won't let you"

Her eyes were closed, but she could still hear the way his voice cracked, but instead of calling him out on the lie, she pulled him to bed. Jon didn't protest and she was glad, because at least this night he needed his sleep and maybe she could keep his nightmares away like he did for her. It didn't always work, of course. She would wake up all the same and so would Jon and they would hold each other and assure everything was fine. But that was another lie.

Because no one could promise anything, not Father, not Mother, not her and not Jon. None of them could make promises like that and keep them.

The world was not made of beautiful promises.

ping from his clothes, their breaths almost mingled together and for a insane moment Sansa wondered how it would feel to close the space between their lips. It would be a simple touch, and it felt enough to quench the quivering of heat coiling inside her core. Instead she leaned forward, letting their foreheads touch. "I don't want to be alone anymore Jon"

She felt his own body trembling when he held her. "I won't let you"

Her eyes were closed, but she could still hear the way his voice cracked under the lie. Because it was a lie, he couldn't make any promises, no one could promise anything, not Father, not Mother, not her and not Jon. None of them could make promises like that and keep them.

The world was not made of beautiful promises.


	15. THE NORTH REMEMBERS

**SANSA**

* * *

The horns blared again and again while she waited mounted amidst thirty five hundredth wildlings.

The number in itself was comforting in a way, with the lines of wildlings cursing, grimacing and laughing in expectation of battle, the fiercest warriors and spearwives, forming a fearsome crowd a good few paces in front of her. Jon had organized their army in pairs, one holding a big wooden carved shield, heavy and wide, while the other was given a long spear of iron and black wood taken from the watch's armory. Given freely by their new commander.

Their army was positioned in a crest of land that looked over a long plain field, with their rear turned to the Wolfswood. Ahead Sansa could see Winterfell looming over the burned buildings of Wintertown, the flayed man of House Bolton flying on every tower in that cold morning.

She knew, of course, that their lines looked much more fragile than that, with the shields laying on the ground and hidden by turf, the lines split and filled with gaps and their few men at arms standing by the flanks almost shyly, she knew the Boltons would look upon them and see ragged savages and untrained animals, a prey untill they could show their teeth.

No preparation would stop them from dying though, the faces and names she learned along the way. Now they were not all wildlings, but Soren Shieldbreaker and Mona of the white mask. They were Black Moris, Brogg and Dim Dalba, who was slowly marching to take command of their left flank. They were Brit, Woolen and Tyra of the Pimple. They were Tormund with his own long spear, his booming laugh never ceasing as he measured his men up and down the ragged line.

At the sight of the big man, Sansa threw a wary glance at her line of defenders of which Torreg, his eldest, was part of. The young man and five other wildlings couldn't help but seem misplaced amongst the guard, standing in furs and leather beside Mormont and Glover horsemen, all in mail and sporting their crests proudly.

Her protectors all of them, and a show of unity as well.

At that moment she heard Leathers blowing the horn again, and shyly rubbed her horse's side to calm the beast. The noise was for the Boltons of course, a call to battle, a provocation that was meant to mount over words spoken at the parlay. Something to warn Winterfell and the northern lords of their coming and to give Ramsay a headache if the gods were good.

 _Although I_ _might have one myself by now._ She though thinking about those inside Winterfell.

"There are many northern lords siding with the bastard." Robett Glover had warned them before. "They will add their own men to the count of course, not only Ryswell and Dustin who are bound by blood, but Cerwin, Karstark, Umber, all of them will have men on the field."

"There are also Hornwood men out there." Young Larance Snow spoke shyly, he was always trying to remind them of that, even under Glover's obvious glares.

"They will turn." Kyle Condon had nobly claimed. "The north has a long memory my lords, even them know the bastard is no one's friend."

Brandon Norrey nodded. "They will turn or die knowing of their own cowardice."

And Sansa had silently hoped he was right. Jon, she could see, was not at all hopeful of that possibility.

"They will only turn if we seem to be winning, and that in itself is harder than actually win." He had claimed then with a weary smile.

 _Let's just hope for one thing at the time._ She thought now, her knuckles white around her reins.

"They won't come" Jon mumbled by her side now, grimacing at a particular strong blow of horn. He was dressed in his full armor, boiled leather, greaves of dark stee, thick vambraces around his lower arms and a helmet protecting his face, pieces she had helped him with before the sun had risen. His sword, Longclaw, dangled from the saddle, his hand opening and closing over the pommel that resembled Ghost. Behind him a young Mazin squire held the Stark banner for him, Brandon, she remembered he was called, the name holding a pain all on its own.

"They will, don't worry."

"Aren't you worried?" He raised an eyebrow her way and Sansa smirked, making sure her voice was low enough so she wouldn't be overheard.

"Terrified." She raised her hand, showed Jon it was trembling and he took her in a gentle hold before she could stop it. His grip was not strong and his fingers moved idly while Sansa relished in the warmth that she could feel even through the leather.

"We should have fled."

"I would never have fled."

"I know"

Sansa remembered his plan in her mind, even as she balked at the mere sight of so many gathered with the only intent of killing. She had no idea if things would go his way, and she knew that Jon couldn't be sure of anything as well.

Now, her eyes met his as if drawn to him on their own accord. She watched his worry, those deep gray eyes bearing as if on her soul, like he was trying to keep her memory now, asking for strength while also offering his own.

Suddenly she was extremely conscious of whatever their display could mean, both holding hands in the middle of their army, so she was glad when a shout passed over the line, men pointing towards the castle beyond the hill. At first, everything was silent, and then Sansa saw it. People were moving above the battlements and Winterfell's gates started to open in a breaking sound of chains been raised. The Bolton army marched out in neat lines, all bearing mail, swords, and spears. She saw horsemen come as well, at least half of them bearing the twins of house Frey and she saw other banners as the footmen arrived. Cerwin and Hornwood, Dustin and Ryswell.

 _They will turn when they have a chance_ , Sansa prayed silently. _Please turn._

She took a deep breath, looked over Jon, at his brow as he watched the moving threat.

"I have to go now"

 _No!_ She wanted to shout, but that was selfish. Jon was still their battle commander, and she wouldn't shame him with some sisterly need to protect him, she had already done her best by creating a guard around him and so she said her farewells with a look, before he rode down from her position. She would remain at a safe distance, high and to the left, but Jon had to be closer to the men under his command and for a moment she allowed herself to simply watch him as he moved along the line.

He had no fancy armor, ornate helmet or even a handsome cloak, and with the helmet on he wasn't all that different from any other man, but he looked like a hero to her all the same, calling words of bravery and strength while the enemy took its positions.

It seemed to take forever, watching the march as the army, six thousand strong – she was told – formed over the hill, first a tight fist and then in a confusion of shapes that reminded Sansa of a swarm of bugs, their formation opened its wings like a bird of pure steel becoming a huge line in three blocks, with the horsemen all gathered between them.

"We have to hold against their attack as much as possible." Jon's voice suddenly appeared in a warm tent. "They will attack on foot at first, bring bowmen close and keep the horses moving on the field, trying to traps us."

"So we attack them first." Tormund argued. "We break them before they break us."

"We won't" Jon had spoken before anyone could insult the Father of Hosts. "Our numbers are equally matched, and I've seen giants falling to heavy cavalry before, no, we have to take care of those horses first, then resist until they commit everything against us."

Jon moved the pieces over the map until half of their forces were positioned in a line, the rest he split into two blocks, hidden from the battlefield. "If our scouts were successful, Ramsay has no idea we have Robb's men or how many clansmen are with us, so the plan is to hide you away. Half the clansmen will be north of the woods, while Sir Kyle will ride back to his men and march them north along the Kingsroad." He moved more blocks. "Once the bait does its job, Sir Kyle's men will have to ready themselves to fight their cavalry, once that is dealt with we circle back and hit the rest from the rear."

"And then what?"

"Then we kill them."

"Bowmen!" She could hear Lord Glover's voice, the closest to her position on the left, and then the sound of at least two hundredth arrows being notched. "At ready! At ready! All of you at ready!" He called out along the line as other leaders repeated the order.

Ahead Sansa could see a small group of riders taking position overlooking the field. Their commanders, she realized, wondering which one was Ramsay.

For a long stretch of time, the two armies faced one another in dreary silence. Their band of wildlings with very few clansmen and even fewer men at arms seemed to hold its collective breath, while the Boltons seemed to do the same. Then the Big Bucket began to laugh, calling out the Boltons with curses and insults that would've made Septa Mordane have a fit. Soon the wildlings followed suit and their whole army was screaming. Wheter that worked or not, Sansa couldn't tell, but that was when she saw the Boltons finally marching, with their cavalry slowly moving ahead of their formation, a move that made Sansa frown uncertainly as her guts clenched coldly.

"Are they mad?" She heard a Mormont man whispering.

But the enemy horsemen seemed to disregard that idea completely, downing their spears, the sun glittering over the steel sharp edges, Boltons and Freys advanced, their forces trotting and them gaining speed, until Sansa felt the tremors of the land even through her saddle.

"Should we leave, Lady?" Leathers asked by her side, to which she could only shake her head, from afar she could hear Tormund screaming.

"Here they come lads! Make sure ya shove those spears hard up their arses!"

"Shields on the ground! Step back and shields on the ground!" Jon yelled instead, passing on the command. "Shields on the ground! Spears up! Now! Bowmen! Get ready!" The line on their front ranks was quick to raise the hidden shields, pressing them hard on the soft earth while spears rose among their men as the enemies came closer. AS one, their line did step back, revealing the ditches dug behind their lines, so deep the melted snow had turned it into a line of mudd.

"Loose!" Shouted an elderly knight and their arrows flew towards the coming charge. The entire mass of horses and man seemed to trembled together like a whole beast, loosing limbs and patches of skin along the way as horses and man alike tripped, screamed and died either from arrows or from being run over, yet to Sansa's eyes it seemed like nothing had truly happened, like their arrows were useless against the incoming hammer.

"Here they come!" Tormund bellowed, seeming to drown all the other voices that repeated the order.

To Sansa the sound could've been a thunder, striking maliciously from a gray sky, breaking into a thousand more to punish men on the ground. She had been looking straight at a Frey knight when he flew over their shieldwall as his horse impale itself on their spears, his body disappearing amongst the mass. It was only when she realized that the enemy had not gone through their line that she felt the need to breathe again, filling her lungs with air as she watched the struggle.

Ramsay's cavalry was spreading along their now solid line, their horses shying away from the spear points, tripping on the ditch, stepping on dead men and beasts, their riders trying to use their own weapons over overlapping shields. Here and there she would catch a glimpse of blood when someone was hit, and Sansa even saw a wildling taking a spear through his neck, before another one climbed over his body, grabbed the spear and pulled the rider down to be slaughtered.

And suddenly they were not widlings any more, but a mob, pulling down a white cloak under King's Landing's sun, drenching it in blood. Suddenly she was feeling hands pinning her down, guts spilling over the pail, rancid breath filling her nostrils. The world was spinning, and she blinked. No, she couldn't have this now, not now. Steeling her heart, Sansa nodded, and took a deep breath, trying to drown her demons with sheer will. _You're Sansa Stark of Winterfell,_ she thought as Ramsay's cavalry fell back and his footmen took their place, a ripple resounding over the field as the shieldwalls met. _You're Sansa Stark of Winterfell, you're steel_. Arrows began to hit their own army now and wildlings were falling all over the line.

Ghost nipped at her skirt.

And then Jon was there riding his mount away from the line, the young Brandon holding his banner and blowing a horn as they charged towards the retreating enemy cavalry. A little more than one-hundredth horse against seven times that number.

 _I'm Sansa Stark._

By her side, Ghost seemed to move as if to join his owner, but instead kept himself still by her side.

* * *

 **JON**

* * *

It happened slowly.

Although he had been part of battles before, Jon had never led a cavalry charge like this, and so, even as he slowly called his men forward, even as his guards formed up around him and took position like a spear point of the formation, the fear that had been gnawing at his guts since he rose that morning finally abated and the helmet stopped stealing his breath.

Ahead of him the Freys were still trying to turn around their horses and face his charge, but their mistake had been made and Jon wouldn't forgive that. _A commander who hesitates might die just as easily as one who rushes forward_ , his father's voice spoke in a small room to him and Robb.

And so Jon didn't hesitate.

As soon as he saw the enemy horse coming upon his army, he had known what Ramsay wanted. A quick victory and chaos of blood, but his line held and now Ramsay's men were still reorganizing themselves and Jon would make sure they never did. He aimed for the Frey horse who were closer and steeled himself.

His hand was firm and steady as he unsheathed his sword, his heart beating strongly against his rib cage in pace with his horse's hooves, the speed increased and although he could tell he was screaming he had no idea what words were spoken.

 _Winterfell is our home!_ He heard Sansa's voice, like a brush of autumn leaves. _It is_ ours Jon _. It is ours and Bran's, and Rickon's and Arya's wherever they are, it belongs to our family. It's our home and we have to fight for it…_

Jon brought his sword arm in a back swing and felt it connecting, then going through flesh, but he was already passing through as his men flooded over the enemy in disarray, killing and hacking as they went. It was not meant to be an attack to end them, and so Jon pushed forward, he pulled his horse away from a fallen foe, parried a spear aiming for his side and advanced through the mess of men. A scream was the only alert he got, before another rider run over his side. His horse screeched in pain as the spear pierced its flesh and, in panic Jon pulled his feet from the stirrups and jumped.

He hit the ground hard, losing the breath from his lungs. A horse run by his side and he rolled over, the wind passing by his ears as he tried to get to his feet. The rider that hit him fell soon after to a sword and Jon rolled away from a second rider, trying to cut the horse's legs, but never knowing if he did it. A shout made him turn around, sword cutting the air, a foe with a flayed man at his chest reeled back, blood spilling from a cut on his nose. It didn't stop him though, and Jon shouted, pushing him with his shoulder before putting his weight behind the sword. Stick them with the pointy end. The valyrian steel pierced the boiled leather and mail all at once, and Jon was finally able to regain his ground.

Everywhere he looked there was battle, horses dead and dying, men falling and blood. The stark men were like a spear, cutting and going forward still, but without a horse Jon knew he would most likely be left behind. It wouldn't matter as long as they followed the plan of course.

"Forward! Forward!" He shouted to anyone who would listen, something screeched against the side of his helmet, and then a horse was falling at his side, the rider dead. "Forward!"

"M'lord! M'lord!" Jon heard, turning around he saw the young lad that held his banner, he was swiping the pole around using it like a spear, while offering his hand, but Jon was too late to shout a warning before the lad's head rolled away from his body. Grunting, Jon lunged at the enemy horse, the beast reeled, standing on its hind legs, hooves shooting forward as the rider fell from the saddle and Jon grabbed the reins.

The horse stepped on something that sunk under the weight and then Jon was urging it forward and through the confusion. A man with a mustache fell dead in front of him, someone tried to grab his leg, but Jon kicked back and lowered himself over the horse, sidestepping and finally breaking through. It was like he could finally breathe fresh air when he finally saw the wolfswood ahead, his men were waiting there, slowing down their pace as he neared them and Jon stopped only to look back for a moment.

"M'lord!" Jon ignored the call, watching as the Freys tried to organize themselves, they had clearly struck a blow and now, just in time he saw the Bolton's coming too, all would be thirsty for blood. "M'lord!"

Jon turned around, seeing a man with a bear on his chest taking place by his side, the banner that the Mazin lad had been holding somehow in his hands now.

"Get ready, we need to take them further and into Ser Kyle's men."

He was not sure how many horses he lost in the attack, but he knew that whatever that number was it was necessary to make them follow him. He had hurt those men and now they would want revenge. Jon spurred his horse forward, around the wolfswood and away from Winterfell.

Suddenly, time fell short, a warning came along the column, telling him the enemy was giving chase. Someone made a joke and the laughter reverberate over the hooves that punished the ground and Jon could've sworn he heard Robb laughing with them, as if his brother was there by his side, but he didn't dare to check, less it be just a waking dream.

* * *

 **SANSA**

* * *

For a long while she had feared that the battle would come to her in a decisive blow, she had feared everything would be decided in a raging spreading fire of gore and blood, as she watched the two lines of men clash again and again in heaps of battle, only to stop and start again after a quick rest. At any moment she expected something to go wrong, and all the time she kept herself closed to that fear as if the heat of the Red Keep was still on her skin.

Instead she let her eyes take in the field as the two lines trembled with each impact. To her far left she saw Robett Glover commanding his small portion of the army, shouting at his archers and men to keep pushing, although that side, Sansa saw, was slowly bending. To her right, Lord Mazin was doing the same, his grayish hair visible atop a dark horse.

"I should be there" A small voice suddenly claimed and Sansa looked over little Lyanna Mormont sitting by her side far from the battle.

"I'm sure your mother would disagree, my lady" One of her knights pointed out, but clearly the little girl wouldn't budge.

Sansa could understand, even if she knew nothing about fighting and battle, she, all the same, felt the urge to be useful, to do more than stand by the side of the road as the men marched by, to do more than wait.

"I'm sure you'll have your chance at battles, my lady." She spoke, maybe for her sake as much as the girl's.

The small she-bear frowned her way, worrying her lip in a way that reminded her of Arya. "Is that a promise, Lady Stark?"

"One of my sworn swords is a woman, my lady." Sansa reminded her. "You should tell me."

"Aye, a tall one that looks like a man." Lyanna spoke. "My mother is strong too, as are my sisters. Darcy is dead now, but she would always tease me about being the small one."

"If you want, I might ask Brienne what she used to eat as a child." Sansa quipped before she could stop her tongue, and was almost surprised when little Lyanna giggled.

Ahead, she saw the line of wildlings parting and suddenly Dim Dalba was been carried away, an arrow shooting out of his leg. Sansa grimaced, more and more of her men were falling as the Bolton bowmen approached, but she didn't have a command that could do anything and, even if she did, she doubted she would know exactly what to do.

"The line is bending, we should give the signal now" Lyanna argued and indeed, Sansa saw, their line was bending, their center being smashed and slowly retreating towards her position. Sansa swallowed the bile that rose to her throat, but before the Mormont knight in charge of the signal could say anything, something else happened on the field.

Two quick horn blows erupted from the enemy, suddenly their line seemed to shake, and Sansa gasped. One after the other they rose above the men, beside banners of Umber, Cerwin, and Ryswell, gray and white flowers blooming for the spring, their direwolfs running all over the formation.

"They are switching sides!" The Mormont knight bellowed in joy, Lyanna smirked, and Sansa felt her heart leaping at her throat as the men around the banners began to fight those that a moment ago were their comrades. Falling over the Boltons all over the field and as she saw that she also realized something else.

Turning to Leathers, Sansa spoke in a hurry. "Warn Wun Wun and the other giants about this, hurry before the signal is given."

Sansa swallowed heavily, knowing she had just given an order that could either change the field in their favor or not and at that moment she felt the men's eyes on her all the same, Lyanna's seemed to burn most of all, but she had no time to worry about that.

Ahead she could see Lord Glover was pushing forward now, through the throng, farther ahead, the enemy bowmen started to loose arrows at their own side, while further up, she saw fighting at the hill where she had guessed Ramsay might have been.

Then the roar came.

The sound that followed was deafening at best, but nothing compared to the two horns blown by the giants that suddenly burst from the Wolfswood.

For a moment it was as if the world was shaking under that sound, and Sansa allowed herself to glare at the enemy. _This is my home,_ those horns were saying. She could almost see it in her mind, the Boltons' terrified faces, the startled servants in Winterfell and even the Kings of Winter in their crypts. It was a calling, a threat, a warning. It was a sign to their family. _Can you hear it, Father? Mother? Robb? Can you hear it? Arya?_ Bra _n? Rickon?_

 _This a Stark place and we have come to take it back._

As the sound died out and the fight seemed to pause Sansa heard the answer. Suddenly the air was filled with horns from all sides. From the north, she heard the call from the rest of the Mountain Clans and from the South another one that held her breath. _Had Jon defeated Ramsay's horse? Had he fallen? Was he_ wounded?

And then she saw a line of horses breaking from the trees, but the Stark banner eased her heart immediately. With him were Robb's brave survivors, appearing from above the hills and from the woods around Winterfell, with their horse and footmen thirsty for blood and as the Giants appeared, Sansa was no longer worried about their defeat.

Now, as the first touch of winter came to the land, the enemy that had stood so menacingly over Winterfell was, suddenly, very small.

* * *

 **THE WILD WOLF**

* * *

He was lying atop the soft fur of the black beast when the shouts began.

It wasn't uncommon for him to hear shouts, the men left behind for his protection were all loud and could be really annoying sometimes, but these shouts, he realized, were different the those he was used to. There was an urgency to them, a nervousness that reminded him of cold nights with wild animals roaming their camp, or his brother's hushed whispers of farewells.

His first reaction as always was to reach into his furs where he hid the small bone dagger made especially for him. Crouching low and comforted by the low growl of his wolf, he took a deep breath and thought back to the first time he watched a small animal being gutted, the first time he was offered to make the killing, sinking his dagger into the rabbit. He had cried then, up until morning it seemed, but he promised himself he wouldn't cry now if someone attacked him. If there was something he learned quick was that someone would always hurt him, and he would be a fool to assume otherwise.

The steps were closer now, and he heard her voice barking orders. They spoke about a lord, asked about him, but she answered back saying he was hurt.

When the steps got closer he redyed himself, teeth, nails, and bone, he would use it all, but the face revealed by the flap of the tent was not violent, but actually amused, her smirk appearing under a pair of wizened eyes as she took him in.

"What is this little lord? Ready to break your guest rights?"

"Osha!"

Rickon jumped to his feet just as Shaggydog bounced towards the woman. She cackled when they joined her in a hug, but he couldn't help himself. She had gone ahead, to make sure when it would be safe for his arrival, and Rickon spent his time worrying she would be another face disappearing from memory.

"I'm all right little lord, there was no danger in watching."

"I'm so happy you're back!" Rickon said, blinking back tears. "The men around here don't talk to me, and they are always afraid of Shaggy."

"Typical of these southerners to be afraid of such a puppy" Osha was saying, lowering herself on her knees to rub Shaggy's belly, the wolf didn't seem bothered, actually, it was the opposite. Rickon bit his lip tightly as he remembered the reason she was out there.

"What happened? Did you see the battle? Did you see..." Rickon stopped short, their names stuck inside his throat even now, as if by saying them they would go away like everyone else. After what seemed a long pause, Osha seemed to finally take pity on him.

"The battle is over little lord, in fact, I came back to take you to your family."

"So they're..."

"Aye, they are inside your big castle, but we must move quickly now, and you need to promise to do as I say."

Rickon gazed up at her, knowing that look already, a look that she used to talk without saying anything. "It's dangerous."

"Aye, we don't know any of those lords out there, until we get to your brother and sister, we move ahead and with calm." She looked over her shoulder as if afraid to be overheard, but Rickon knew that as long as Shaggy remained quiet, it was safe to talk. "These Umber will get you a banner all right, something shiny to show everyone they had you, but you don't stop, you hear me? Get your wolf to take you to them and follow."

Rickon nodded carefully, he trusted Osha completely after all. She was the one taking care of him for a long time now, how much he wasn't sure, but it felt like a lifetime. And even later she supported him. When the Umbers tried to keep her away, he had been loud about his demand that she stay with him and when they thought to keep him behind while they did battle, Rickon again was loud that he should go and Osha had been by his side.

In no time he was given a cloak and a horse, with Osha riding alongside as a score of riders escorted him through the Wolfswood. He was going home. The thought was strange, because Rickon had been promised home for a while now, and even though people kept saying the word, speaking nonstop about his rightful seat, about the place he grew up, as if they knew better than him, he had not thought it real until he saw it.

When Winterfell finally appeared on the horizon, Rickon thought he was going to cry. He saw the castle for what it was, all gray walls, huge towers, all smiles, and his mother's hands brushing the dirt from his cheeks.

He was so entranced by the sight, that the smell caught him by surprise until he took a look around him. Across the valley, over the turf, he saw the corpses, dozens of them, laying dead on the ground, men with towers, men with flayed corpses, men with axes and direwolves and even a massive shape that he didn't recognize at first until Osha spoke.

"That is a giant, that is." The wildling claimed somberly. "The old people, came to fight for your family."

"Did… Did they really win?" Rickon asked, never stopping his mount. Shaggydog, bounced ahead, snarling at any stranger that stood on the way, their stares following him seeming like hunters. He shivered.

"Aye, they won, great confusion though, many traded sides in the battle, but not everyone understood that until there was already a sword through the other's gut." Osha had lowered her voice then, and Rickon understood, he understood the same reasons that made him keep his bone dagger close.

He had asked once why the Umbers wouldn't bring him to the Night's Watch, and Osha had hesitated a moment too long, enough that he all but demanded the answer from her. "They are afraid of choosing the wrong side, little lord."

And after that he finally understood her urge that he kept Shaggy close and why she always slept inside his quarters.

Before Rickon realized he was finally passing under the arch, through a throng of silent warriors, all dirty, covered in blood. Corpses were strewn all over the courtyard as he arrived, the smell making him choke because here there wasn't as much open field for the wind to breath. Inside there were more strange people, but here he saw free folk like Osha, and a giant as well, a big man with tiny head walking over a wall under the command of another wildling in dark cloak.

"Is that who I think it is?" The question came from a tall man with gray hair and beard, but Rickon didn't care for him. He looked to Osha.

"Aye, Rickon Stark! Heir to Winterfell himself" The voice came from his back, the Umber man, the one about the crow. "Under our protection."

Rickon felt the silence, but had no idea of what was happening, instead he remembered Osha's advice and lowered himself from the horse instead. He ignored the requests that he wait and followed Shaggy when the direwolf opened a path for him through the crowd.

Shaggy would never put him in danger, he stepped over the corpse of a man with a sun on his clothes and followed Shaggydog around the great hall to a path that felt strange and familiar all at once, and he saw the arch waiting for him, open to a small clearing of a heavy vegetation.

Godswood.

Shaggy was like a shadow waiting for him in the entrance, his green eyes watching his approach, inviting.

Rickon stepped carefully, but stopped dead in his tracks at the sight.

The woods were just as he remembered, even the smell, fresh and moist, with the big weirwood tree greeting everyone that would come inside. Under the tree, he saw ghosts.

He could already feel them, how the man's strong arms would lift him up with joyful laughter, how the woman would take away his pain with kisses and brush away his curls. At night she would sing and her voice would take away his fears.

When a sob escaped him though, he knew it was all a dream.

The wolves reunited first, a white shadow raced ahead, meeting the black one in the middle.

The woman lifting her head from the man's shoulder was not Mother, and the man getting to his feet with tearful eyes was not Father. He knew it, he had known ever since he heard their names whispered amongst the Umber folk, with equal awe and curiosity.

"Shaggydog" Her voice was not mothers, and his laugh was not father's.

"Go on little one." He heard and felt Osha's spear tapping his rear, and right away his feet fell into a run, carrying him ahead through freezing fear that he would wake up, that they would fade, that they would go away. _Everyone goes away_. They go away, and they never come back, but when he finally collided against Jon's chest, and felt Sansa hugging him from behind, he knew it was real, and that knot, that tight knot that had been inside his heart for so long, seemed to finally break and, trembling, Rickon felt free to cry again as they whispered.

His name spoken with the affection of days long past.

* * *

 **XD**


	16. YARA

**Reviews:**

 **Guest 1: Hey thank you so much for this, and yes, Robb's will is part of the story, but you have to wait to see how it plays out.**

 **Guest 2: Hi there, thanks for the info, I apreciate it.**

 **sddc0: Thank you**

 **Greyandmint: I'm glad I didn't kill him as well XD**

* * *

 **YARA**

* * *

The woman's arse was soft against her hand, a treasure really that one couldn't easily find in the Iron Islands. Her eyes glued to the ceiling, Yara quietly wished for the slumber to come by, to reach in the afterglow of peak and take her to a dreamless sleep, but alas, her wish was ignored, just like every other one she had lately.

Breathing with the soft silky sheets against her skin, and the woman's soft snore in her ears, her mind still insisted on traveling to her little brother, and the words they shared early on.

She had been watching a whore walking across the pleasure house's courtyard, towards one of Harmund Sharp's crooked smiles, as conversation and boast of laughter echoed around her under the tossing of coin from hand to hand, while her company remained silent.

Her little brother had barely taken his eyes from the table, in fact, from the moment she had announced to her crew that she had secured some time ashore in Volantis, Theon had barely made a sound at all, except for limping after her like a sorry shadow.

"What is the matter?" She asked, filling a tankard with wine and eyeing him carefully.

"N-nothing." He stammered, his eyes drifting up at the high pitched giggled that came from a plump redhead whore, who was taking coin from Ser Harras Harlaw. "D-do you think..."

His voice drifted away, and once more he looked down, this time a distinguishable shiver going up his spine. "Do I think what?"

"U-uncle Euron..."

"Is probably thinking about clever ways to get us back."

"Sorry..."

Yara frowned, annoyed at the word. "What for?"

"I-I wasn't good enough… I..."

"Shut up." She sighed, her little brother's constant apologies were grating on her, ever since he failed to bring her support in the kingsmoot. "I told, nobody liked you much anyway, I failed as much as you."

"Right." She saw his eyes dart to a plump blond woman with her tits out, the movement so flimsy it could be an illusion. "Why don't you go there and take her?"

"W-what?"

"You heard me, go up there and take her for yourself, or one of the others maybe." She motioned to the rest of the pleasure house where women and man lined around for anyone's pleasure. "The volantenes gave us plenty of coin in exchange for us not sacking their precious city, you can enjoy it as well."

In front of her, Theon shook his head and she couldn't help the boiling fury that spilled the words from her mouth.

"I'm sure she would rather say she had a prince in her bed."

"I'm no prince."

"All right then, but I bet you can still feel pleasure in some way."

"T-that… I-I…." His words ceased, and she felt like she was back with her uncle Rodrick, staring at a broken woman in warm quarters. But they were not back home, and Theon was their Mother, he couldn't be.

"Sorry, I won't say anything again." She stated, but it didn't seem to do anything for him. Sighing, she finally decided that had to end somehow, and her hand pushed the tankard his way before she could think about it. "Drink it!"

She waited, his wide eyes darting her way and to the wine, a shivering hand covered by a glove reached for it and he finally took a gulp.

"Now listen to me little brother and listen well." She leaned over, in her experience, ironborns always needed some pushing to get into shape. She had seen it. Men having bad dreams, or sad sailors wishing for home, they all needed some harsh words to act like ironborn once in a while. So as Theon mumbled her name she spoke over him, determined to get her point across. "I'm tired of watching you cower like a beaten dog, you escaped do you hear me? You escaped and..."

"Sansa..."

"Shut it! When I traded those Glover kids, I did it for the real Theon Greyjoy, not this retched pretender. If you're not gonna act like an Ironborn and..."

"S-stop..."

"No, if you don't want to act like Theon, if you want to live the rest of your miserable life in that hell, then go, I don't care, take a knife and end it..."

Her words died out as he pushed away from the table, his hair falling over his eyes as he limped towards the exit. For a long while Yara wasn't sure what to do as her little brother walked away from her and she had half a mind of command him to come back, to take him by the ear like a misbehaving child and make him good again. As the moment passed though, she found strength only to finish the wine and march to the nearest whore, determined to forget the sight of her brother's tears.

Now, as the sleep she hoped for refused to come, Yara silently disentangled herself from the bed and the warm body by her side. A layer of sweat made her feel sticky and cold as she dressed herself under the moonlit room. Boots, breeches, and a loose doublet later, she dropped the promised coin on the bedside and made to leave, the door wallowing as it opened, a bright view of Volantis' port revealing itself in the bright night.

In true fashion to the rest of the Free Cities, this one had the bright idea of joining the coalition to fight the Dragon Queen, Elephants and Tiger finally agreeing to something and making all sorts of offers for swords and spears. Yara was even aware that some of her men were likely to desert her in the night.

Deep down, she actually didn't blame them.

Euron caused so much fear that many people would rather run than join him. Amongst her supporters, Bottley and Blacktyde were actually her most trusted commanders, Ser Harras a close second. Between then she had at least half of the Iron Fleet under her command, not nearly enough to engage in an all out battle, but perhaps enough to make war or, at least, meet a dragon from a position of power.

If she could take her latest schemes to mean anything though, she would probably be roasted on the spot.

And her little brother as well.

To think of her little brother though, was enough to remember why she wasn't sleeping. She had been fairly surprised when the raven had com to her, demanding the Glover children in exchange for her brother. She had hesitated at the time, bitter memories of her rescue attempt assaulting her every time she would look upon her mother. It had been, she admitted to herself, her need most of all that had convinced her to get him back.

It was an all out win, she would show the North she could be trusted, and start her plans for peace. She would win the kingsmoot, and have the Ironborn actually become something more than pillagers, but of course all those dreams drowned under Victarion's stubbornness and Euron's Silence.

She gave up two hostages for a broken little brother who couldn't stare a dog in the eye.

Sighing, she kept walking until she reached the harbor, her men coming and going as they exchanged turns going on land, since she wouldn't risk leaving the ships undefended.

She walked along her vessels with confidence, with the comfort of a sword at her hip as she took glimpses of Tris' Red Kraken and Baelor's Nightflyer until, finally, her own ship came into view.

Black Wind had been in her sight for so long, from the keel to the sails, she had watched it been built, because once she learned what her father's nameday gift would be she could only watched it growing from afar. At the time she had been at sea for five years already, learning everything one was to know about life over a deck, while Theon was always hunting with bows over green lands.

"You all right?"

"Of course I'm all right" She spoke, a little too harshly as Qarl descended the ramp towards her. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Maybe because your brother came back for some time seeming more like a kicked dog."

It was a pity that she had too much respect for the young man to actually hit him, because she could feel it building inside her anyway. People called him Qarl the Maid because he was prettier than a siren from the songs, but very few knew him as well as she did, or how loyal he truly was.

"What are the men saying?"

"Lots of things." He explained. "They said you put a whore on his lap and he whimpered and run away like a mouse. Some say he couldn't stand the sight of a brothel and some say he is your pet now, more than a man and, the dumbest ones say he should be sacrificed to the drowned god."

"I trust you're keeping an eye on those last ones"

"All the ones I have." She smiled thankfully at him and the man shrugged, but his smile disappeared. "Some are saying he should just kill himself, throw himself over the rails and drown, they say that to him."

"Do they?" Her voice sounded too much like a frightened child all of the sudden, and she almost wished she could take them back, knowing full well she was one of those people.

 _I was angry though, I didn't meant it… Did I?_

"I had words with those men though, harsh words, just to be sure." He touched the sword at his side, to make his meaning clear and Yara nodded, actually wondering if she should be on the receiving end of one of those.

"Did he do anything? Theon?"

"Not that I know of."

"Tonight?"

"Nothing, I heard him crying a lot, but I think he is sleeping now."

"Good."

She fell silent as the wind blew over them, the taste of salt begging her to come to the sea, although under it, Volantis tasted more like rotten fish and unwashed bodies. She wondered if there would ever come a time when she would know what to do about her brother, because from the moment he came to the Iron Island they seemed doomed to cause grief to one another. By her side Qarl seemed to be struggling with something to say, and she was actually surprised when he finally spoke.

"Shouldn't you talk to him though?"

"And what should I say?" She questioned, mirthless. "I've tried anything, he could barely stand by himself in the kingsmoot, whenever I talk about taking up a sword he nods and keeps quiet like a silent sister."

"You should talk to him anyway, or maybe find a septon to do it."

"Right."

"I'm serious."

 _As if that was easy._ She thought bitterly. "What you should do, is take our new plan around the men, tell them we're going to Meereen."

"Meereen?" Qarl gasped. "You mean the same place all those mercenaries are going?"

"Of course." She gripped her sword and put one foot at the ramp. "My uncle took my crown, so it's only fair that I take his dragons and bride."

Sour, Yara spat on the floor at the thought, before marching over the deck and downstairs, something ugly and undefined clutching at her insides, as she assured herself that the news would at least cleanse her fleet from the cowards and unbelievers.

She was close to her quarters when she heard it, Theon crying inside her quarters. Of course he was there, it was the one place no one would intrude and he knew to keep his shame to himself, right? Beside, what could she do? Qarl had to be wrong.

She had conquered Deepwood Motte and for a moment believed her father could actually conquer the North but that failed, she rode to Winterfell in hopes of getting her brother home and failed, and later she failed in the Dreadfort as well. She had promised in the shores of Pyke to kill her father's murderer and take the crown and look where she was now? Half world away from home and losing men every day.

Still, she was the only daughter of Balon Greyjoy, what business did she have feeling sorry for herself? That was a weakness, something her father had purged from her long ago. Balon Greyjoy had needed an heir and she was only glad to fill the role, to be the son he needed, strong, proud and ruthless…

 _None of that will help me with this._

And then, there was Mother, the woman who died when her brothers were taken, who was still back home, mumbling and asking for her little brother to come home, but she would die hoping because Theon was not Theon anymore and she had never been enough.

 _Mother?_

The little girl inside her asked once more, but those eyes, those ghostly eyes never saw her.

 _Where is Theon?_

Her boot drove into the wall, and she felt the satisfaction of watching her iron plated point crushing the piece of wood, she did it again and again, and when she was done the tears were already falling down her cheeks.

 _I don't know._

There was a lot that Yara knew how to do, she knew how to sail and how to throw at ax at a target across a long hall. She could fight with sword and maul, and she could spear a fish underwater. She could read, write and think, something so many Ironborn struggled to do. She could lead a fleet and, given the opportunity, she knew she had it in her to be better than Victarion had ever been as a commander. But she couldn't make those sobs stop, she wasn't a young girl and Theon wasn't a baby that would smile at her sight.

 _Take a knife and end it._

 _Do I want that?_

What should she want? Her family had always needed something, and, for some time she believed she could give what they needed, but she never truly managed that. Her mother needed her sons, her father needed the world, Theon… What does Theon need?

 _I don't know what to do._

At the sound of something falling to the floor, her heart leaped to her throat and she pushed the door open, finding her little brother tucked into himself atop her bed, a candle stick dropped to the ground in a mess of broken wax.

"S-ssorry… I-I didn't mean to drop anything, I-I was just tired a-and..."

"Let me see."

She pushed herself forward, feeling her heart drumming inside her chest and taking his hands away from under his armpits. _What to do?_ Without the gloves she could see the flesh was red and irritated. _How do I talk to her, uncle?_ Grimacing, she fumbled with his boots, only to feel his hands stopping her.

"P-please no… P-please..."

She opened her mouth, ready to scream that she was only trying to help, and the irritation died away into ashes. Screaming didn't help, asking him to be a man didn't help. _You mother answers to kindness, girl._ The voice of Rodrik the Reader told her form far away, her favorite uncle, always. _Something that is lacking in those island of ours._

"Let me see, so I can help" She spoke the word slowly, as if afraid of saying more.

Theon hesitated, nodding so quickly it almost seemed painful to him.

As the boots fell away from his feet, she was met with a even worst sight than his hands. The missing toes made for a gruesome picture, clearly taken away with far more struggle than his fingers. The flesh there was bruised somewhat and sensitive to the touch. It was no wonder he limped everywhere. It was more than a lack proper balance. Biting down on her lip, she took his foot in her hands and started to quietly apply pressure over the scarred injury. Soon enough Theon's sigh of relief reached her ears.

"T-that feels good."

He still couldn't look her in the eye when she answered. "Everyone loses a body part in the islands, I lost count of how many I made lose fingers in the dance."

He offered no answer, to which she was almost glad. Letting go of that foot, she started working on the other, until she was completely done, and she could sit down by his side.

For a long moment, none of them said a word, but maybe there was nothing to be said. This wasn't the brother she had wanted back, and Yara was pretty sure she would never be a sibling to Theon, not in the way those wolves had been.

And yet...

"T-thank you." Her eyes darted his way, his frail body shivering. Would he ever put up some weight again? "They hurt a lot, sometimes."

Yara had always heard from sailors about their missing legs hurting in the cold or the heat, but she never went further in her questions. "How is that?"

"It's like they're still there." Theon explained, his eye glassing over. "Like, he took the skin again, and I have to rip it off."

At that last part Yara felt a lump growing inside her throat, and the urge to scream her next question, but she held herself back, looking over her little brother, destroyed, gone. _He is just like mother,_ _but I could never do anything for her._

"What do you mean, Theon?" She questioned. "What do you mean by you having to rip it off?"

She watched him cowering away, and felt completely at a loss of what to do. Her first impulse to to shake him awake, but instead she waited. Slowly, patiently, she got the whole story. How that monster would flay his fingers and Theon would beg to have them cut off, only sometimes the monster wouldn't oblige and he would use his teeth to do so.

"You should try to think of something else, something good."

He shook his head at her suggestion. "All my good memories make me feel guilty"

And she knew right away that he was speaking of wolves and snows, and by the time she had her arms around him, Yara couldn't tell if she was too weak to speak up, or strong enough to keep quiet.

By the time she finally got back outside, Theon was asleep inside her cabin, and she never felt more eager for the wind and the taste of salt at her lips. Soon she would sail away from this city, she would be at helm of the Black Wind, guiding it like a sword through the waves, and she wouldn't have to think about shattered families and broken dreams.

* * *

 **Please Read and review, I can't know for sure how I'm doing without feedback.**

 **This chapter was hard to write, but hopefully everyone will like it. This is my take on Yara, there are some personal view I have on her, and her childhood, and otherwise I really wanted to adress how she deals of a traumatized brother overall, hopefully I did a good job, but please let me know if there is something lacking, or that you guys think should be added to the sotry.**


	17. JAIME

**JAIME**

* * *

He looked down at the scorched stone that had melted under the wildfire's rage, and was not at all impressed to find the whole place breathed heat like an oven even three days later.

Indeed, despite the cold winds that had been coming more and more each day, a silent whisper of winter, Jaime couldn't believe he was sweating inside his armor, the taste of salt pungent on his lips as he looked over the tall, broad shouldered idiot in charge of the City Watch.

"What was your name again? Pot or something?"

"Kettleback." The man spoke with enough distaste that Jaime knew right away he had struck a nerve. Smirking he looked over the remains of Baelor's sacred sept and into the giant pit that had grown from the destruction.

"Well, Sir Kettle, see to it that no one comes closer while your men take care of the bodies."

"Bodies, Ser?"

"Yes, I know it's far fetched, but it would really be good that we retrieve something, don't you think? The whole city is mourning our dear High Septon and a dozen nobles, if you get something out of it, might as well let them mourn."

"But..."

"Are you about to question my command?"

In truth Jaime had believed truly that he had left the pile of shit back in the Riverlands, leaving the Frey's in their merry right to feed their newly acquired lands and deal with a nobility looking for the tiniest drop of blood to rise again, but that would also be his aunt's worry now and he had confidence that his father's sister would know how to deal with her husband and that family of theirs, besides, hostages were not lacking for them to use. Wheter he knew it or not, Walder Frey would be obeying Genna Lannister sooner than he thought.

Sighing to himself, Jaime walked down the pile of ruble to a street filled with gold cloaks walking from door to door, their order to clear the nearest streets where some buildings were still threatening to collapse. In fact two had done so before anyone bothered to do anything, that anyone being him as soon as he learned about it.

"So?"

Bronn, who was leaning over a rock, looking thoughtfully over the crowds of moving peasants, shrugged. "I asked around, whatever that old maester arranged did the work, the whole city is mourning and buying into whatever they're told. Some people blame the dornish, others blame outlaws, some are even saying your brother sneak into the city and lit the wildfire like he did against Stannis. They are so scared someone would murder the HIgh Septon that they are now looking to anything for safety."

Jaime could only accept it.

Qyburn already had people spreading as many ludicrous information as he could and Jaime was not as thrilled to meet a willing crowd as he hoped, for deep down he had to wonder how long it would last. Already he was afraid of the cracks that would show, what with Cersei's hurried coronation and laws seeming appearing overnight, how long before the fear simmered into something more volatile as they became hungry?

A curfew was already in place before he even arrived in the city, almost like the Queen had expected the tragedy to come. Laughing dryly Jaime recalled their conversation in her quarters. She had been alone then as well, wearing only a long shift as she nursed a cup of wine in her hands. She had been expecting him as well and yet, he found no words to say.

"Our son is been sent to the Rock by morning, you should probably see him before he goes."

He tried to remember Tommen's face in his mind, and yet the smiling little boy seemed as empty as every other dead person he had known. He remembered his plans of taking the boy's education more seriously upon his return, maybe taking his uncle aside and working a way to keep the peace with the Tyrells while they got rid of the Sparrows, and now, now his plans were ash. He remembered feeling something like that when he held Myrcella as a father, but the gods enjoyed laughing at Jaime Lannister it seemed.

"He threw himself from a tower." He pointed out to Cersei, quietly, not sure what was truly squeezing his soul.

"I made sure he would be safe, but apparently, the whore's hold on him was even stronger than the Sparrow's."

"He threw himself from a tower!" He barked then, his hand pulsing with an old pain, one that begged him to lash out, and yet, and yet he took a breath and dispensed his anger upon the vanity. "What were you thinking?"

"What was I thinking?" His sister scoffed, one idle hand running through her now short blond hair. "I think that I was surrounded by enemies and that I was about to be sentenced to death. Not for bedding my brother mind you, the old fool was smart enough to keep Tommen's claim as clean as possible, but for treason and kingslaying, well, he seemed so sure I would be guilty of that and sentenced by my own son!"

"That wouldn't have happened."

"You sure?"

Jaime blinked at her question, her voice coming sharp like a whip. "Tommen loved you..."

"He betrayed us" She cut him off, rising and walking towards him, her eyes shining like pyres of wildfire and yet he stood his ground. "He betrayed us, every step of the way, he betrayed us, our son, uncle Kevan, you know this."

"Cersei..."

"I have no time for this, you want to mourn him? Go and mourn him, you want to be angry, go and be angry." She gulped the wine and walked towards the balcony. When he followed her, Jaime was not even sure he wanted anymore, the blame he wanted to cast felt heavy and impossible to carry, the curses he wanted to scream were stuck inside his throat. He felt numb, he felt dead, he felt like a young boy wearing the white cloak. "Mother, Father, Uncles, our Children, they are ashes now and we're alive."

 _I wonder for how long,_ he had thought then, when he offered her his back, but he didn't leave the room before hearing his queen's orders.

"I'm naming you my Lord Commander again, you'll see to our armies."

"Your grace."

Even now, as he watched the skies turn gray and the promise of snow come closer and closer, Jaime wondered if two words had ever been said to someone worth, and he wondered how that would feel like. It wasn't for him to say though, for his sister was right about one thing.

No matter how many rumors were spread over the realm, the facts would remain that Cersei Lannister now sits at the Iron Throne, the mother of a Queen, with not one drop of royal blood in her veins and the heads of great houses would look upon that and wonder and start their own preparations and Jaime, at least for now, didn't feel like losing his head.

At least King's Landing was under control.

"It is impressive really, not a month ago they were all claiming for your sister's head, now they want her to protect them."

"A lot of impressive things happening lately" Jaime pointed out, as he came down towards the street.

In silence he watched the gold cloaks herding people out of their homes, marching them to the promised shelters, the many built by the late Queen Margaery to feed the poor with her family's grain and Jaime wondered if Cersei had known about this, or if it had been someone else's doing.

His merry band of squires were all waiting for him with the horses. Peck was rubbing the animal's neck softly, whispering into his ear, while the other two, while Page and Piper remain aside, their Riverland colors standing out amongst some much red. Smiling at the group, he sought out his most recent acquisition as well and found young Hoster Blackwood had somehow found a book to read while Jayne Bracken helped guide the people through the streets. Jaime still remembered the promises made, the lass to serve Queen Cersei, the lad to Casterly Rock.

With all that had been going on, he had no time to deal with them.

 _One thing at a time Kingslayer._

As he walked towards Honor, the horse remained still, but Jaime's eyes found a woman leaving her home, dragging two boys by their hands, many and more joined the crowd and yet they opened up for his passage anyway, and yet he stopped, foot on the straps as he heard the scream. Sighing, he turned to Bronn, the mercenary being an odd vessel for his trust lately.

"Go to the shelter and make sure these people are being taken care of."

"Is that a command?"

"If you're still here, you should know I would order you around."

He watched Bronn nodding his head, his fine clothes and sigil of a chain covered in green fire catching under the sun as he rode down the stream of people and again Jaime wondered how long the man would stay around and when Adam Marbrand would arrive to be of help. Many and more men had gone back to the west when they thought the war over, and now, calling them back would be a slow business.

The house where the scream came from was not that much far from the sept, and apparently was the only one where people lingered. The owner was a burly man with thick leather jerkin, apparently being threatened to leave by a tall and angry member of the City Watch. His face was vaguely familiar when Jaime looked upon him, and yet the man seemed far too distracted, by pulling a woman outside.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"She won't leave!" The man said, and although the five gold cloaks with him immediately bowed towards him, the ugly one held the woman's arm and didn't move.

"Release the woman."

The man grunted in an annoyance and seemed to finally take in the sight of his armor, crimson steel, with golden lions and the hand of course. Everyone knew about the damn hand. He let go of the woman and Jaime waved at his squires to hel them to their feet.

"Are you going to explain to me why you're dragging people out of their houses?"

"These are the orders m'lord, these two don't want to obey."

He scowled, the woman was embracing her husband now, her eyes wide with fear no doubt, and yet she kept glancing towards the house until her husband whispered something in her ear. Jaime bent his head to the side, wishing he was somewhere else and yet, if rumor spread of gold cloaks beating people for nothing, the city would no doubt start to remember how the Lannisters are a rotten lot.

"Well, if you had anything between those ears, you would remember the people were not to be harmed and your job was to ask and warn, not drag them away."

"But they..."

"Unless of course the lovely couple is hiding something?" Jaime watched their eyes again becoming desperate, he wondered what could be so damming. Food perhaps, hoarding food even now would be criminal since the Reach would no doubt cut off their supplies again. "You are aware of the danger of living here, I hope, your house even has cracks on it."

He pointed out the obvious destruction running up the wall, while the man licked his lips. "This is ours m'lord, we rather stay here, if you please."

"I supposed that can't be helped..."

The scream made his voice trail off, it came from inside the house, muffled, but he heard, the agony very familiar in that he had made that sound in the past as well. The woman and the man were shivering now, staring at him with those same eyes he had seem in the faces of cowards and dead men. The gold cloaks had obviously heard it as well, and were now waiting for his orders, even the dumb one after another whispered something to him. A warning no doubt.

"Who else lives in your house?" Jaime questioned, only half listening as the man stuttered about a sister and two children and yet that scream had been a man's. Even Peck was frowning now and he couldn't help but curse the man for not coming up with a lie. Sighing, he looked to the gold cloaks. "Hold these two here, and don't let them enter, understood?"

Nods. Good, he liked nods, it was a sign of obedience. He unsheathed his sword, still feeling the strangeness of his left hand holding the blade and ventured inside the home, Peck trailing at his side. It was a rich place considering they were commoners, a long table held itself in a large dining room, while to the side the house divided itself into smaller quarters. The two children the man spoke of were both in the hallway, their big eyes watching his approach, a boy and a girl. Lowering his sword, he lifted a finger and motioned for them to move, they did. Hurrying inside the empty quarters as a woman waited for him the other one.

And here he was surprised, this one wore a septa's robes, her chin lifter in quiet defiance, even as he approached her.

"Would you give me passage septa?"

"I wouldn't, Ser"

Another muffled scream came from beyond the door at her back, but she never flinched. "It seems someone needs help."

"There were many wounded in the inccident, Ser, I'm just helping those I can."

"The wounded should've been all in the shelter."

"This one is too hurt, to move him would be risking his life."

"Well, maybe the words of a knight will make him better, don't you agree?" Jaime let the question float between them with a smile a sharp as he ever could make them and he wondered if the woman understood it for what it was.

Jaime didn't feel like he would truly hurt the family, but he was angry, and he had been looking forward to winning a confrontation even against an old brave septa if it had to be. He wondered if she understood that, he wondered if she would test him, he wondered if she thought it would be cowardice to give in even when it was the only option.

He didn't get to find out as she lowered her gaze, much like Edmure Tully had done once, and finally let him pass.

"Keep an eye on her, Peck."

"Y-yes, Ser. "

Inside the room, he was met by a peculiar sight, not the worst he had seem, but it made him stop dead all the same.

He had no been there when the first wounded by the explosion were taken away, and now his first thought was that the man was dead. At least he should be, as another scream made it past his lips, this time the hurt clear and terrible as Jaime took in the sight. His body had been burned, he couldn't guess how much of it, but from head to toe, there were bandages covering him all over and many more already piled on a corner, mixed with burned skin and living flesh or worse. Jaime was so horrified he almost didn't notice the woman.

She was on her feet, standing on his way, with naked steel in her hands. The fire had gotten to her as well it seemed, because she had one arm uselessly held by a splint, and half of the hair had been burned off her head, taking an ear and half of her face with it, and yet Jaime could still see the beauty that Tommen's queen had once been.

"Your grace?" Jaime offered with a small almost mocking bow.

"If you think I'll let you take us alive you're mistaken."

Her voice didn't have the slightest tremble, it was pointed and stoic, something Jaime would've admired weren't for the circumstances. "Pardon me, your grace, but I'm at loss, what are you insinuating?"

"Don't play games with me, Ser, your sister wants all of us dead."

"And if she does, what can your knife do?" Jaime asked. "This family here, as good as they were, saving your life, are not equipped to protect you, they are horrible liars you see."

She didn't flinch at his threat, but instead, she walked close to the bed, knife still at ready. "Let my brother go."

The question wasn't a surprise, but even though he had guessed Jaime couldn't help but be surprised that the Knight of the Flowers was truly the pile of burns and pain, breathing heavilly atop of the bed. When he spoke, his question was almost hoarse.

"And why would I do that?"

"Cersei wants me, take me, she can do whatever she wants, just let my brother be, let him heal and..." Her voice finally showed a degree of emotion as she stopped talking.

"I'm afraid everyone out there has heard a man's screams, your grace, if I bring you out of this house, I've no doubt my sister would comb this city to rubble in search of more surviving traitors."

She frowned, her eyes going down to the knife.

"Don't..." She looked up, and Jaime finally remembered he was still holding his own sword. As slowly as possible he sheathed the blade, and showed Margaery Tyrell his empty hands. "You're thinking of killing yourself, don't do it."

"Why do you care?"

"I shouldn't really" Jaime quipped. "It would actually save me a whole lot of trouble, and yet, my son killed himself because of you, it would be fair."

"Tommen is really dead then." Jaime nodded as he watched for a reaction, but beyond surprise, he couldn't see through that mask of hers. "I thought he would be alive, that Cersei would simply..."

"Take the crown and lock the boy in his room, well she did that last part. Not that you care right?" He wondered if she even felt anything for a boy she had manipulated, but as he approached, the only thing he saw was that she cared for her brother at least, the knife, moving above Ser Loras' neck almost immediately, leaving Jaime speechless.

It was him she wanted to kill first. She would spare her brother and risk capture, and how lovingly was that. He showed his hands again, but the queen didn't move, still at ready, hand trembling.

"Like I said, there is no need for that, your grace." Jaime looked down, his gold hand glimmered under the morning sun, the man on the bed screamed, Lord Commander Hightower placed a cloak at his back and he thought about giving Honor an apple later. "If I were you, I would leave the city as soon as you can, we'll be at war soon and the gates won't open after they close."

He watched, but for the first time he seemed to have surprised her.

"Your grace." He bowed, and smiled, turning around only to have her call him back.

"Are you mocking me, Ser?"

"Not at all, your grace." He made to move on, but stopped short, thinking. "One more thing, I wouldn't run south if I were you, I heard we might be at war with Highgarden soon and it would be a pity if you were caught amidst that."

* * *

 **XD**


	18. JON IV

**JON**

* * *

All around him, Winterfell burned with the colors of Stark, the white tapestry that had fallen overnight forming a thin layer of snow over the gray walls with Direwolves running wild over the ramparts and towers, looming over the silent crowd.

They had come slowly, tricking inside their liege's house, guardsmen, knights, and the little smallfolk left behind by the Bolton's not short enough reign. The She-bears of Bear Island were together to his left, Lady Maege towering over her daughters, while Galbart Glover stood by his brother's side, both clean and dressed after leading the ambush on the enemy cavalry. To his right, Umber, Manderly, and Tallhart joined together surrounded by their man and other small houses. Then young Lord Cerwin arrived, pale and sick looking between two of his guards.

Being a bastard, he had never been as close to the heir of Castle Cerwin as Sansa and Robb, and still, Cley had smiled when they met him in the healer's ward, just after his leg had been sawed to save his life.

"I'm glad to see you back"

Sansa had taken his hand and Jon had left them be after a few words. Now he stood upright anyway, willing to see justice done for his father's murder. Jon's gaze traveled to the crowd at the back and he glimpsed a few familiar faces, peasant girls who had been taken by Ramsay and his men, prisoners who lost limbs and pieces of themselves under his power, they were all looking for justice.

Sansa was not the only one hurt as she well reminded him the night before.

"He turned our house into a hell Jon, he brought many people suffering. He needs to be condemned, I want to be the one to do it."

"You don't have to."

"But I do."

"You can't wield a sword."

She had paused, and then. "He liked to use his dogs, sometimes."

Had it been his way, Ramsay would've lost his head the moment Lord Royce and Baelish dropped him on his knees in front of him and the whole of Winterfell, but of course he understood why that shouldn't happen. The Freys present in the fight were all dead, shown no mercy from all sides, and Roose Bolton was also gone, so that left Ramsay.

The only ones with nothing to gain from this were further back, knights and squires, soldiers of the Vale displaying their blue and white and many other colors from houses Jon knew little about, and yet Sansa had seen to know them very well, judging by the way she moved and spoke to each strange man, thanking and welcoming them to Winterfell.

Flexing his hand, Jon held his breath.

He looked up, meeting Sansa's gaze as well. It lasted only a while, then she was back to her mask, staring inside like statue made of marble, or maybe one of the Winter Kings deep in the crypts.

She should be ruling this. He thought as her voice spoke through the courtyard, allowing Hallis Mollen to signal his men. She should have a crown on her head, not me.

It had been such a simple day. He spent the afternoon burning bodies, and negotiating with the Free Folk about their living arrangements, organizing a garrison with their army while starting the works to repair Wintertown for the smallfolk. When the sun set, he had been hoping to have a warm meal and spend some time with Sansa and Rickon.

Ever since their tearful reunion, Rickon had refused to part with them for long. He would often seek them out as if only to see that they wouldn't leave him, which made matter difficult some times, but Jon never felt bothered by that. He relished what little time he could make for his little brother. He asked for stories, for adventures and tales of where they had been. Jon knew the boy was afraid to sleep sometimes, and so he indulged him although, he dared to say, Rickon new more stories from the free folk than he did.

That had not been a night of family though, for he was called to his father's solar as soon as he walked into the castle.

Sansa was already inside when he arrived, sharing wine with Galbart Glover and Maege Mormont, both seeming much more alive than when he first met them. His first sight of the woman, leading the survivors from the War of Five Kings, had been of a blood-covered warrior, hugging Lyanna Mormont to her chest, while Galbart had been looking more like a criminal in haggard clothes than a lord.

"My Lord, My Ladies," Jon said, taking a seat by Sansa's side, the warm room sipping into his body as he let his hood fall back.

"Jon, we've been waiting for you."

Jon nodded, remembering his manners even through his weariness. "I apologize for making you wait."

"There is no need for such y..." Galbart Glover stopped mid-speech, frowning down at his cup, while Maege shifted in her seat. Feeling awake all of a sudden, Jon felt his hand flexing around nothing as he accepted wine from Sansa's hand.

"What is this about, my lords.?"

Galbart Glover hesitated. "Perhaps, we could speak of this in private."

"What?"

"They have requested this meeting with you Jon." Sansa explained, rising from her seat. "I'll take my leave now if you please."

"No" He didn't want to be alone with those two, not if he could help himself, not the way he was feeling. He needed her there if only to keep things clear. "I'll have you know, my lord, my lady, that my sister has my complete trust, whatever matters may be that you have we me."

There was a pause in the conversation in which he could only hear the crackling of the fire. "Well, I'll be dammed, I told the secrecy was foolish Galbart, they are family after all."

Glover didn't answer, instead, he sighed and produced a folded scroll from his belt, leaving it reverently above the table and that was when Jon felt the ground shifting from under his feet. Staring at him from the gray wax, a crowned direwolf roared to life, as if reaching out from the hands of the dead and as soon as the meaning struck him, he had to remember to breathe again.

"It was a dangerous time the one we were, both Galbart and I were left guarding the passage to the West, a way to prepare our march to Casterly Rock."

"Casterly Rock is too well guarded." Jon mumbled numbly, his knowledge of the Seven Kingdoms was something he could cling to at that point.

"It was not our goal to take it, but to lure the Lannisters. With the Freys on our side King Robb planned to give battle once more, we would ride the countryside, take the food and gold we needed and let Lord Tywin come to us, but alas, it does no good to speak of dead plans." Galbart Glover explained gruffly as Maege took in the tale.

"We received news fast, survivors rode day and night to meet us, from there we retrieved Kyle Condon's men along the Trident and set ourselves to survive. With Howland Reed's help, we smuggled every man we could find to the bogs, entering the North slowly ever since. When we heard the last Starks were already marching we felt hopeful once more." Lady Maege grimaced. "We're both aware that it is late, for many things, but we made a vow to secure the words of our king and deliver them to its intended."

"This is his will, signed and witnessed by the great lords of the North and the Trident" Lord Galbart clarified somberly and Jon knew the words unsaid. Many of those lords were dead or imprisoned now.

"Robb's will?" Sansa whispered by his side, and Jon finally felt his body responding to his command, his hand reaching out to give the scroll to her.

"You should open it"

"Jon"

"Sansa, please" He said, grabbing for the table to keep his hands from shaking.

The sound of the broken seal was blearily loud in the closed solar, where Jon had so very few times watched Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn peering over letters and ledgers.

It was here that I asked him to go the Wall. He remembered, and Robb had met him just outside, his face breaking into a grin only after Jon assured him that was what he wanted.

Farewell Snow.

In silence, he watched Sansa reading their brother's words, her eyes twinkling with tears that he saw her fighting against, until a single one escaped and trailed a path down her cheeks. Blinking, he offered her the plain handkerchief he carried in his pocket, and watched her dabbing her tears away.

When she looked over, the Lady of Bear Island and the Lord of Deepwood Motte were both looking away out of respect.

"I assume you both know what it says."

"We were witness to its content, my lady."

"Good, your word will be paramount when we bring this to the council tomorrow." She was staring at him as she said the words and Jon felt a knot of dread coiling in his guts.

"What does it say?"

Instead of answering the question, Sansa offered him the scroll with a reassuring smile.

Robb's words were clear to him, and he couldn't help but shake his head as his heart warred with itself with so many emotions. A part of him was grieving still, remembering a far younger lad, with auburn curls, trading blows against him with a wooden sword.

I'm the Lord of Winterfell!

You can't be the Lord of Winterfell, my lady mother said so.

Children's words, and yet they poked at him all the same now. When his eyes finally landed on the decree itself, he knew his fear was warranted, as the words seemed blurred and cleared, his name written and changed in the name of Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North and the Trident.

As he finished reading, he could only let the scroll fall atop the table and sigh, barely listening to Sansa as she spoke to the other lords. He didn't care what they had to say, he didn't have the heart to let them know their travel had been for nothing.

When he looked up again, he and Sansa were alone and he felt himself speak. "This can't be right".

"What?"

"This…" He reached out, motioning for the scroll. "That can't be right, he would never… Robb he..."

She was already shaking her head. "Jon that is Robb's will, you saw his handwriting, he wrote it himself."

"But why?"

Sansa's smile was gentle as she sat by his side.

"Well, think a little bit Jon, I was Lady Lannister, Arya was missing… Bran and Rickon…"

"I was his last opt…"

"No!" she stopped him before he could utter a world. "Yes, it is true he might have thought us dead Jon, but don't start with that self-depreciation. Robb loved you, you know it, he wanted you to take his crown because he loved and trusted you. You know that right?"

Jon knew that, even now he knew that.

But knowing something didn't make anything easier, in some ways, it made things harder.

Later, Sansa had spoken to him again, explaining how Rickon was too young, how they would be in danger of the lords taking him away to a guardian, how she was a woman and they wouldn't look to her for a ruler. How he was their best option.

But Jon could only remember Lady Catelyn's eyes keeping him away, he could remember his refusal spilling from his tongue before Stannis Baratheon.

Winterfell was not his, it would never be and it shouldn't.

His thoughts were disturbed by the commotion caused by the parting crowd, curses were shouted and things were thrown towards the prisoner but no one dared cause him real harm as Ramsay was brought to the middle of the courtyard, gagged, shackled and in rags. Idly, Jon brushed his hand over Ghost's fur as Sansa walked forward.

"Not long ago, let everyone here listen, that a crime was committed against our people, a hideous and sinful one." She spoke, her voice carrying through the courtyard, stronger than when she first spoke of the trial to him, in the late nights they spent together. "Under guest rights, the King in the North, my brother, Robb Stark and his loyal men were slain and betrayed. While the name Frey is forever cursed in the eyes of gods and men, and while we cannot yet bring justice to the Twins, we can bring justice against the house that betrayed us all!"

A hush run through the crowd and Jon was reminded of the many Freys who had come north to aid the Boltons, all dead now, any command to take prisoners had been completely ignored if the people wore the Twins on their chests. Some of the imagery still disturbed him a little, the sight of Frey corpses gutted and alive, tied to horses and ridden through the field by men too drunk in their revenge. It was not something Jon wanted to see again.

"Let it be known, that in the North we answer cruelty with justice, let it be known that in this day, we put a monster who raped, beat, and killed the innocent to the sword." Her eyes lowered, and at her signal, a guard stepped forward to take Ramsay's gag. "Ramsay Snow, any last words?"

The bastard sneered, then he spat. It never reached anyone, but those pale eyes of his glowed with madness. "My name is Bolton! Do you hear that my bitch wife? Bolton! And when the time comes I'll have you back in my bed and those traitor's skins hanging from my wall! Do you hear me?! I'll flay all of you alive!"

Around him, Jon heard someone shout to cut off the bastard's tongue, someone else screamed that he should be hanged, but Sansa didn't even flinch at the bastard's threats, she stood still, the smoke of her breath the only sign she might be a living being.

Ramsay grinned. "Even if I die, I'll be sure you'll remember me! All of you! When the Lannisters come, you'll remember me!"

More shouts, now they were mad, but at one gesture a guard punched Ramsay, and with one hand from Sansa, Hal stepped forward and shouted for silence.

"You're wrong!" She said, eyeing everyone. "You mistake your importance, Lord Bolton, from this day forward your house will disappear, your words will disappear, and you will disappear."

Jon sucked in a breath, the proclamation was clear, from this day own, House Bolton would vanish. Sansa was not Lady of Winterfell until a formal recognition, technically, only Rickon could promise something like that, but by the nods of agreement, it wasn't a disapproved action.

"For your crimes against the North and its people, in the name of Rickon of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and heir to the North, I, Sansa of House Stark, sentence you to death."

She walked forward slowly, and Jon let his hand go from Ghost's fur.

She couldn't wield a sword,

A gasp of surprise ripped through those watching as Sansa came forward, stand a few feet before Ramsay, the white Direwolf circling until he was between them both, his teeth showing even as he remained silent, and as his fate became clear, Ramsay's eyes widened.

Much later, Jon wouldn't remember of Robb's will, or what exactly those in the crowd had thought of the sentence. He would only think of how Sansa remained cold even when blood splashed into her skirts. He would remember her absence when he put Rickon to bed, and the sight he found in the Lord's chambers, of her huddled in his old cloak, looking for something in the night.


	19. THE KINGMAKER

**THE KINGMAKER  
**

* * *

He finally found her inside her Father's solar, peering over old ledges written for the Boltons while they occupied her home, trying for the first time in years to figure out the numbers of running a castle.

She wasn't at all surprised actually to find him asking for her time, his charm and pleasant smile always present as she allowed Hal to take his leave and allowed her gaze to fall on the Lord Protector of the Vale.

"What can I do for you, Lord Baelish?"

"I was hoping we could share words, my lady, ever since my arrival we barely spent time in each other's presence."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid running a castle is not such an easy task, my lord, not after everything that has happened."

"No, I imagined it is not." She saw his eyes darting to the numbers on the paper, an almost eagerness shining through. "As a former master of coin, I would be glad to lend you my aid."

"Of course."

Sansa wondered what he expected her answer to be, perhaps to jump at the chance of having his wisdom with finances, perhaps gratitude, but Sansa was not about to give him anything, for now.

Finally, he started over. "I hope my information regarding Riverrun has paid off, my lady."

She thought of Brienne, so far away and sent a prayer to the brave knight and to Podrick as well. "Not in time for battle my lord, it doesn't mean that it won't bear fruit."

"Of course, I should apologize as well, with the Boltons guarding Moat Cailin, bringing an army North by ship proved to be a lengthy affair"

"Not at all my lord." She closed the book, watching him leaning by the window. "The Knights of the Vale will be great allies in the battles to come, I'm sure of it."

"Indeed"

She wondered what had caught his interest outside, she wondered if there was anything that could possibly do that at all. The Wolfswood, the white plains covered in snow, the gray walls, thousands of years old. Sansa doubted the North held anything pleasant for Petyr Baelish, but she found her answer soon enough.

"I must say I'm surprised to find you in the company of the Lord Commander, are you sure the Night's Watch won't have issues, meddling in the matters of Westeros?"

"I hardly see it that way."

"Yes, of course, and your half brother seems to be well-liked, after all, it takes a remarkable man to bring so much loyalty despite his name."

"My brother saw it as his duty to protect Westeros bye fighting the Boltons, they were vile monsters my lord, I'm sure you must know that." She remembered his words and shivered, summoning the way he screamed during his execution to erase the feel of his hands, outside, she followed Littlefinger's gaze to where Jon talked to Tormund and Wolkan, his hands motioning along the walls and battlements. "But then again, maybe you didn't know."

For the first time she saw him losing his pleasant demeanor, his eyes falling as he stepped forward. "My lady, I do seek your pardon for such miscalculation, had I known such a madman existed, I wouldn't have brought you here. Hopefully, this will make up for it."

"What will, my lord?"

"This" He said motioning beyond Jon, to the four thousand knights camping outside Winterfell. "The Vale of Arryn, as Lord Protector I can name our allies and your enemies, and your cousin was eager to help his family as you know. Now, the North and the Vale can stand together against any threats, as it was done in the days of old, all for you, Lady Stark."

"My brother Rickon has the right to rule over Winterfell."

"Your brother is young, raised by a wildling woman I'm told." She guessed it was too much to hope that he didn't know about Osha. "Young lords can be a dangerous thing in times of war, like young Lord Robin it wouldn't be a far stretch to think the North will have need of a Lord Protector"

"And you would have me playing that role?"

"Whichever role you choose to seek." He turned around and his smile now could've been sincere, if the darkness in his eyes didn't make Sansa want to take a step back. "Use the power I offer you now, you are a friend of the Vale, a friend of true northern blood."

"And what do you want in return, my lord?" She asked, despite the fact that she already knew. His eyes sparkled, as he looked to the side, all the confidence of an untouchable man seeping from his relaxed shoulders and raised chin.

"The game never stops, my lady, I told you that once."

"But someone will win, eventually."

"Eventually."

Sansa took a long while, regarding how confident he seemed, any sorrow he felt for her disappearing under the certainty that he had pleased her, and he had in a way. Idly Sansa thought of his reasons, old habits from King's Landing coming back like old friends as she tried to follow the tapestry of his schemes.

Littlefinger had been working to destroy the Lannisters when he took her to the Vale, where he gained power, but he still needed a reason to claim more. Wasn't that the core of it? He always wanted more and then, he also wanted someone.

Schooling her face as best as she could, Sansa turned to him, spilling some of her true. "You made a mistake my lord, Ramsay hurt me, and there may never be enough to make up for it, but this might be a start. Now if you please, I have work to do."

"Of course."

She watched him turning around and stopping, seeming unable to leave without having the last word.

"Winterfell." She stopped, feeling a shiver crawling the way up her skin "Winterfell is a great gift, one that surely grants this repentant man forgiveness for his errors."

"I already have Winterfell."

"Do you?"

She had thought once, hugging Jon under the Heart Tree, that they would finally be safe, that they could rest and ready themselves for winter. But battles were not the end, what came later was just as important. Allies needed to be rewarded, commands had to be made, kitchens had need of a staff, and the smallfolk needed to be assured of their safety. Wildlings, Valemen and Northmen must be made into friends and food must be accounted and stored.

Sighing, she worked hard until late afternoon, finally making sense of the Bolton's work, at least superficially, but now matters of more importance would come to her attention, as Maester Wolkan so politely warned her about.

Promising to be there, she went on her way to fetch her little brother, and she found Rickon in the chambers he once shared with Bran, struggling against his clothes.

It was actually a silly sight, watching the boy fighting against the knots, and small holes of the doublet, his fingers clumsily seeking a hold of the cord, and then his teeth only to grunt in frustration when he missed the hole. It was an old one of Robb's, one the Boltons had at least kept around.

She herself was using an old blue gown of her mother's that Walda Frey had apparently brought from the twins. Meeting the woman, Sansa could still remember the ire that rose inside her to find her wearing her mother's winter clothes – fixed to fit her frame – inside her mother's chambers.

Sighing, as her little brother tangled himself even more, his mouth pursing and pouting the whole time, she finally stepped forward, kneeling to look him in the eye.

"Having troubles?"

"The knots, Osha won't help me" He sent an accusing look towards the wildling, but the woman merely grinned.

"A little lord should be able to wear his own clothes, I'm only a savage and I put this whole thing by myself." She said showing him her new chain mail, boiled leather and gray tunic. The woman had hesitated a lot at the attention such garb would bring, but Sansa had insisted the image was important. Now Osha was dressed like any guard of Winterfell, except by the chain of bones around her neck that Rickon had insisted on gifting to her.

"Why does Osha dresses like a knight, and I don't?"

"Osha is not dressed like a knight." Sansa explained. "Knights would freeze here in the north with all that armor."

"Like the Valemen?"

"Yes, little one, like the Valemen" Snow had fallen for two nights since Lord Baelish had arrived and Sansa had already heard of foolish men losing toes for walking around with steel boots despite her warnings. "Come now, everyone is waiting for us."

"Will Shaggy be there?"

"Of course, he and Osha will stay by your side all the time." Sansa paused, pursing her lips. "Do you remember what we agreed for you to say?"

"Aye." Rickon answered frowning. "But only if it's necessary."

"That is right."

She walked outside, Hal falling into step behind her, him and his men a welcome presence in Winterfell even if for the somber task of bringing her Father's bones. Rickon smiled at Hal as well and turned to her as they descended the stairs. "I like it, what you told me to say."

"Me too"

"He can be just like Robb then."

Sansa had to force a smile at her little brother's words, knowing he was right and also that Jon wouldn't see it that way.

 _He will hate me for it._

But alas, Sansa didn't think she had a choice in the matter, at least, she couldn't see a path that would allow them to keep all those highborns united against their common foes, for as much as she loved Rickon, her life had taught her to consider every possibility with care and that included the ripples of the coming council.

Lord Royce was waiting for her before the door, wearing a long surcoat and heavy cloak in his house's colors.

"My Lady, I want you to know that my house is honored to stand by your side."

"We're honored as well, my lord." She nodded at Rickon to go forth and meet Jon, her siblings meeting halfway to the high table. "My father always spoke highly of you."

"Your father was a true friend, that I couldn't help your brother Robb, many in the Vale regret standing out of the war."

"Those times are gone, my lord, I know my aunt had her reasons, and she was the liege of the Vale. Sometimes it costs much to follow the words of kings, and having someone above you."

Lord Royce paused, his eyes narrowing at her words, while Sansa nodded his way and walked into the great hall, her eyes falling on the direwolf banners now hanging above the hearth, and then Jon's whisper of a smile bringing back memories from the previous night.

She was not surprised when they ended up sitting together by the fire, their cloaks dropped in quiet silence. At her feet she could see Ghost breathing in his sleep, his size now taking almost the whole front of the hearth with no problem. He had come to her in the late night, his hands carrying two mugs of ale as he offered a far kinder smile than she felt deserving of.

"Father would've been proud." He told her shortly, and they had not spoken since that small comfort, but the touch of his shoulder against her own was somewhat enough.

Shyly, she glanced to her left quickly, to see Jon was staring into the hearth. She paid attention to his eyes, wondering if he was trying to see something in the flames like the men had whispered the Red Woman could do, and wondered if she could even try to do the same.

 _Will I see him angry at me? Or cold and distant with a crown upon his head?_

It was neither when she looked into the fire all that came to her was the sight of Ramsay's guts spilling into the snow as he screamed, the soft whispers of command passing her lips as the white direwolf jumped forward. He was clean, Sansa made sure to get all the blood out of his fur, but still, she couldn't help but feel sickened. She didn't regret killing Ramsay, she never would, but the fact she felt relief at seeing the life draining from his eyes worried her all the same.

As if doing the right thing was an eternal passage through a narrow bridge. One wrong step and she would fall, morph and become the people in her nightmares.

 _Not that that is about to change._

Not with Littlefinger bringing the Vale and his game inside her home.

For now though, she just wanted to be here. With him she had no need to be afraid, he was maybe the only person yet she felt safe with, completely, with the knowledge that he wouldn't harm her no matter what he might glimpse under her skin.

"It's getting late" He said suddenly and she shot him a puzzled look. "There will be more work on the morrow."

"Do you sleep at all?" She asked him worriedly, but Jon merely shrugged.

"What about you?" Sansa remembered nights when she woke up screaming, drenched in sweat and fear as Ramsay's smile hovered above her. She offered him a shrug also, seeing his exasperated smile. "Okay, I deserved that."

"Yes you did" She told him, watching his eyes threatening to close at any moment. Maybe it was the ale now all gone from her mug or maybe he missed those rare night they would dare spent close together. Sansa rose from her seat, took the furs from the bed and laid them by Ghost's side. She sat down and turned to Jon, still sitting in the chair, watching her.

He seemed to move as if on a whim and had she been in a better mood she might have laughed at his uncertainty.

She remembered how they would sleep close to help with nightmares and when he couldn't, Ghost would be there. Maybe she was the one who wanted him close. What she knew is that back then, there had been an appeal to have his breathing bringing her to sleep, and his arms around her when she woke from a nightmare. The first time it happened she had thrashed and pushed him, but he had kept her close, whispering his own name in her ears until she calmed down.

From those moments she remembered pieces only, having a firm memory of his warmth and his presence until she fell back asleep. Her more vivid images though were the ones of his own bad nights. When he would suddenly wake up panting, calling for Ghost, even if his direwolf was already asleep by his side, one night after been woken by his murmurs for the third time, she took his hand in hers, holding for a long time.

They never really talked about it, and she was fine with it. It was a mutual trust they had gained, one that was ended slowly, having separate tents and a whole army of prying eyes on them. This was, she realized the first time they had just for themselves in a long time.

When he sat down by her side in the fur, his eyes were locked on his own lap, watching his fingers dancing as if lacking of something to grasp, talking way into the night, about the wall, and the fist of the first men, about the Vale and a castle of snow, until he was closing his eyes and drifting to sleep.

Smiling Sansa covered him with his cloak, and moved to find her own.

She stood in the middle of the room, her memories going back to times when everything was simple, tiny moments when Robb would share a bed with her, promising to protect her from snarks and grumkins. She was so little then.

She studied her half-brother's features now, wondering if he would have nightmares of knives in the dark, wondering if he dreamed of his death and feeling a stab of guilty when she left the chambers and went to find Lady Mormont.

She came back way into the night, and barely got any sleep.

Now, the great lords of the North, leaders of the wildlings and representatives of the Vale gathered in the Great Hall of Winterfell right after the evening meal, something Sansa had deemed necessary to better the moods.

They had their tankards of ale by their side, they argued, they screamed, they made agreements while some kept silent during the whole meeting, each person in the hall sitting close to their own.

Lord Hunter from the Vale complained about the wildlings and asked when they would be sent home to which Smalljon Umber grunted in agreement. Tormund answered in kind to the man's rudeness and Lyn Corbray opened his mouth to be insulting.

"Are the northeners truly that desperate to ally themselves with you?"

"Our deal is with the Lord Crow, metal man" Mona White Mask rebuked, her weirwood carved mask attracting looks as much as questions while she remained sitting among the wildling leaders.

"That is not acceptable, these people raided our lands for generations!" Crowsfood Umber barked, glaring at Tormund. "Many lost kin to your raiders, wildling"

"And now you should be glad we will stand between you and what is beyond the Wall!"

"And who gave you the right?"

"The lands occupied by the free folk belong to the Night's Watch!" Jon boomed, his voice carrying out along the men. "And its Lord Commander has given them permission to settle."

"Pardon me, Lord Snow, but they seem far away from their land." Smalljon argued, receiving echoes of agreement from the small lords around him.

The argument rose way into afternoon, with Jon arguing here and there, again and again, until the conversation jumped from the wildlings to who the plunder and the division of the Bolton lands, and then to who would lead the North and actually make those decisions. Smalljon wanted to crown Rickon right away, while Lord Manderly insisted in the choosing of a lord regent. Men of the Vale kept questioning Jon's right to be there since he was a deserter, while Kyle Condon shouted about the need to prepare for war, calling her and Rickon princess and prince for all to hear. During the whole ordeal, Jon kept shooting her exasperate gazes, but Sansa made no move to intervene, she waited and finally, it happened.

Lord Royce rose from his seat in a rare moment of quiet, his voice that of a battle commander. "My lords, My ladies! The Vale of Arryn has come south in hopes to assist Lady Stark! We've come in name of the blood she shares with our liege lord, the same blood she inherited from her mother and father. I see no point in this discussion if a clear leader, one that has marched to battle by your side, is sitting right there on that table."

It was a tiny moment in which Sansa felt every eye inside that hall landing on her, something she was told would happen many times in her life. She would be so beautiful no one would look away, her name day would be special, her wedding day would be special, her song would be special, but this was none of the dreams of that little girl.

This was a battle, whether they realized it or not.

And so, before anyone could give her their support or question Lord Royce's words and call in question her loyalties, she chose to speak herself.

"You're very kind, my lord, but I'm afraid I cannot accept any position over my younger brother, nor can I claim any right to Winterfell." She remained cold, looking down on the assembly. _Give them nothing, let them ask it of you_. "Lady Mormont"

The Lady of Bear Island rose from her seat, brandishing her late brother's will like steel as she stood before the table.

"My Lady speaks the truth, my lords, here me now and know that I speak the truth, that what I hold in my hands is the last command and decree from Robb Stark, The Young Wolf, who was our king."

The room stilled, whispered questions and answers flying from one side to the other and Sansa dared not look at Littlefinger in the moment.

"That is the truth, I was witness to the signing." Galbart Glover roared, and Lord Manderly finally asked the only question that mattered.

"My Lady, please do tell, what is the will of our king."

"Robb Stark has named his heir, Lord Manderly, he has legitimized his half-brother, Jon Snow, a Stark, he has pardoned his leave of the Night's Watch and has declared him his heir." She brought her spiked mace from her side dropped it heavily on the floor, creaking the stone beneath. "I put my trust on Robb Stark once, he was betrayed and murdered, now I put my trust on Jon Stark who commanded our armies against the Boltons and Freys. The King in the North!"

Sansa felt his eyes on her, but she could only give him a ghost of a smile. Please accept it. As she stared, she rose from her seat, Rickon doing the same, looking to her for guidance before he fell to his knees by her side in front of the high table.

In that moment she knew he was trapped, and she felt a twinge of pain clawing at her insides, a guilty so terrible as the burden she was putting on his shoulders. _It was the only way,_ she wanted to scream as Jon rose from his seat, proud and hurt all at the same time.

"Jon Stark!" Galbart Glover shouted from her back.

"The King in the North!" Little Lyanna's voice joined the chorus and then the steel sang countless times inside the hall, and as Lord Royce took his chance and dropped to his knees as well, Sansa it was done.

"The King in the North!" They shouted, eager for a leader.

"The White Wolf!" They claimed, wanting of a hero.

"The King of Winter!" The mountain clans roared, a savior.

Sansa saw only Jon, brave, gentle and strong.

 _The King in the North._


	20. MEERA

**MEERA  
**

* * *

She forced her legs to take one more step, forcing her foot out of the thick snow and forward and then she was one step further. Shivering, she gulped the cold air down her lungs, and made her body take another step, and then another, while around her the wind howled with the voices of the dead.

 _Hold the door!_

Narrowing her eyes, she forced herself to watch the path ahead, meeting only the shadows of the forest, the thick white road in between seeming soft and warm despite everything she knew about snow. Shaking her head, the young crannog narrowed her eyes and forced her shaking muscles to move one more time, forcing her shoulders and arms to pull the sled along. _One more._ She stepped forward, the snow sunk under her weight, and far away a wolf howled.

 _Summer…_

 _Hold the Door!_

She would give anything to stop and rest, to build a fire and remember what warmth felt like, but the wind was blowing, the snows were falling and still she kept going, because there was no choice, not really. Everyone was dead and behind her, and she alone, pulling through the sting behind her eyes.

Vaguely, she tried to remember how long it had been since she started this, how long since she last had the strength to run, screaming her lungs out for Hodor, because he had been their only hope.

 _Hold the door!_

Tears had long ago frozen at her leashes as she remembered the big man, his face morphing into a smile of happiness when she mentioned home. Of course, home might be a different sort for him, whereas her home had been the bogs and houses of the Neck, Hodor's home was the same as Bran's, thick castle walls and summer snows. _Don't!_ She cursed, forcing the thoughts away. Hodor was gone now, with the three-eyed-raven and the children of the forest. Gone and they would be too, if she didn't take one more step.

She pulled the sled and raised her leg, it complained and shook and it stood and she moved her other leg along.

 _How long?_

Meera didn't know, she knew only the next step and the white shadows at their back. From under her hood, she took in the sight of the woods around her, the next tree seemed very close. _I'll get to that tree_ , she thought. _Let me just get to that tree._ But then her vision blurred and something caught on her boot and Meera felt the snow colliding against her face.

 _No!_ Her mind screamed. _No! Get up! Get up!_

She swallowed and tried it, but as soon as she tried to raise herself from the ground, her strength disappeared. Shaking her head, she grabbed the sled and pulled, and it barely moved. _Please…_ She begged under an empty sob. _Please just one more._

Her grip grew slack, and she tumbled down again, the wind and the snow was everything as her eyes looked up. _Where did the sky go?_ She wondered, her eyes closing. It was soft on the ground, and warm, strangely warm, she barely felt the void of her stomach any longer. Maybe she could rest here, just a bit, Bran wouldn't mind, right? He would understand if she could rest, it was not as if she could get up anyway.

 _But you have to_. A voice told her, it sounded like her brother, it sounded like Jojen. _At least, you have to try._

 _I'm trying._ She told the voice, as a sob escaped her lips. _It's too hard_.

The sled behind her was still, and in front of it stood the dark root that had tripped her, mocking her efforts it seemed. _Meera Reed, defeat_ _ed_ _by a tree root._ Somehow she found the strength to drag herself further, to where the lad rested, tuckered inside so many furs she had to dig them away to see his face.

His eyes were milk-white still, so he hadn't woken up since they left the cave. Somehow it made Meera sob again as she mumbled under her breath.

"I'm sorry..." She told him. "I'm sorry Bran… I-I can't… I'm sorry..."

She heard them, before they appeared, the crunching of the snow, and their eyes blue in bodies that should long be dead.

"I'm sorry..." She whimpered because her hands refused to even close around the dagger on her belt. She couldn't even defend him.

 _I failed._

 _It's all right._ Jojen's voice told her, and she felt her heart shattering under the light leaving his eyes. Hodor was crying, repeating his name over an over as the wights ripped through the door. The Children were dying one by one, silent as they had always been. They never screamed, she remembered, or maybe her mind was playing her false. Meera didn't know, she knew only Bran's face as she waited for the strike that would end her.

"I'm sorry..."

She felt the shadow and closed her eyes.

The blow never came, instead a snarl as savage as the wilds broke through her daze, and then the blue eyes were disappearing under the bright fur of the Direwolf, its teeth sinking into rotten flesh, claws slashing at muscles and breaking bones.

For a moment Meera could only stare.

The last time she had seen the Direwolf he was charging at the wights behind her, his whimpers like an anguished song reverberating his end, but somehow now his eyes were still like two golden coins as he limped towards her, keeping a clearly broken leg out of the ground.

When he got closer, his tongue touched her cheek.

Warm.

It was warm, and she felt the sobs escaping her once again.

"S-Summer..."

The direwolf cocked his head to the side, making a sound like a whimper, as is he wanted her to get away, but she couldn't, and somehow she felt too weak to even utter the words. Instead, she looked over him as more shadows seemed to rise from the treeline, the blue stars of their eyes looking on hungrily as they encircled them. _I'm sorry_. Numb fingers closed around the hilt of her spear, and she stood up, leaning on her weapon more than using it properly.

 _Hold the Door!_

 _I'm sorry..._

By her side, Summer growled, standing his ground despite the bright red painting his fur.

 _Some people will always need help. That doesn't mean they are not worth helping._

They were closer now, half-dozen of them.

Meera sent one last prayer to the Old Gods, and let out a shout from her lungs, lunging at the first wight. The spear hit him right in the face, the body falling limp over the snow as whatever magic that kept the dead moving was killed by the frozen fire.

Then they were upon them, and Summer flew straight at the closest one, biting his whole head off, before crying out when his broken leg hit the ground. Meera blinked, trying to dislodge her spear, but as soon as she summoned her strength, it failed to come, her arms complaining and shivering, as she tripped back over Bran, weaponless. The Wights were closing in on Summer now, and she saw the wolf lashing out, standing on its hind legs, paws tearing apart at dead skin.

Then one of them had his hands around her neck, and she could do nothing but watch.

 _Sorry… Bran, I'm sorry…_

She drifted alone above the swampy water, the bogs opening before her eyes, the scents and chill whispering of home, but there was nothing there with her, and when she made a move to guide the boat, her hands were empty.

 _I was just catching frogs_ , her own voice whispered and then the lizard lion was falling under the nets and tridents of her father's hunters. Its powerful maw useless under the sheer number of attackers, Lord Howland's hand a soft presence by her side, but when Meera looked, there was no one on the boat and only the cold remained.

 _Your brother has the sight..._

The current was gaining strength now, diving forward aimlessly, the mournful howl of a wolf echoing through the bogs.

 _You must leave your father be, Meera…_ The next voice she knew right away, a voice of songs and sage wisdom, the proud brow of Lady Sybell Reed guided her as the door closed between the vines and trees.

Her last glimpse of her parent's chambers was of her brother leaving and her flames flickering on her father's tears.

 _I'm sorry…_ She mumbled, but her voice seemed to be gone along with the boat, as it melted from under her feet, the water was cold, harsh, two shadows stood at the docks looking down at her… At them...

 _You two must take the perilous road, protect each other, protect the princes._

 _Until the wolves come again_. Jojen whispered, his face blurring and morphing like it was underwater, and then he was embracing their parents for one last time, but even then he must have known, he must have known she wouldn't be able to protect him.

Even then, he was saying farewell forever and suddenly there were other voices out there, near and distant altogether, but she cared for her brother. She wanted Jojen...

"… you know what you'll become..."

Meera wanted to reach out, to take him with her, away from the dream and into her arm.

"… three-eyed-raven doesn't live in the now..."

"… know..."

"… you should tell your friend..."

Then her brother was already moving ahead, mouthing his love until he was gone and she was opening her eyes, sucking in a breath as she took in the sight of gray skies and warmth around her.

"… so much, but I didn't know you were alive."

"I'm not"

The voices were distant, mumbles and whispers, spoken through a waterfall. Familiar. A choked sound premeditated the next words, the crackling of fire seemed to mock it.

"Father...

"There is no need to speak of that..." a pause, heavy like the pain that suddenly flared through her body. "I imagine I shall see him one day, when my duty is over."

She imagined she would be dead now, but her pain told her something different. Pain means you're alive, her father used to say, whenever she hurt her knees and so, finally, a groan made her known to whoever was talking, and then soft blue eyes were looking down over her.

"Meera?"

At the sight of her prince, alive and well, she immediately tried to get back up, but she was comfortable in a way that was almost horrible as she realized her position on his lap.

"Bran."

"Don't try to move, Uncle Benjen said you need rest."

"She needs to drink this, it will put some strength on her." Bran took something from out of her sight, and then she felt something warm and inviting touching her lips. It tasted salty and wonderful, filling her belly deliciously to a point she managed to raise her hand and finish the whole thing.

"T-thanks..." She mumbled, managing only to half seat, leaning herself against Bran as she looked to the side, to meet the other voice, only to pause at the sight of rotten skin.

"He is my uncle Benjen" She looked up at Bran, and he was actually smiling towards the man. "He saved us."

"I guess I should be thankful then..." She looked over, but the man's eyes were somber as he finished a small poultice and moved to a lying bundle of fur close to the fire, which whined and relaxed under the touch. Summer.

"You two were very lucky, I was far away when I lost sight of the dead, by the time I received the call I feared it would be too late." He fixed his gaze on her. "I should be thanking you Meera Reed, you and the wolf kept him safe."

She wanted to shake her head and deny everything. Summer had saved them if anything, she was ready to give up and clearly the Direwolf wouldn't recover completely of those wounds. She looked over at Bran and he seemed to think the same, judging by the glistening tears in his eyes.

"Uncle Benjen was killed by the Walker, but the Children somehow allowed him to keep his mind, I think I know how."

"Old magic, deep into the heart." His uncle described, rubbing his own chest. "Remember that."

She felt Bran nodding above her, and released a breath she didn't know she was holding, her eyes finally darted around them, to a circle of pale bark and red leaves, red eyes watching intensely even as she felt the lull of sleep calling once more. "Is it safe here?"

"As safe as it can be, this place is older even than the Night King, it will shelter you for now, when the sun rises we will ride the rest of the way to the wall."

"Are you coming with us?" That was an earnestness to his voice that she hadn't heard since he asked the Three-Eyed-Raven if would walk again, but just like then, Benjen Stark also answered negatively.

"I can't, of ice and stone the Wall was built, but there is more to it as well, spells weaved to protect the realms and the dead can't go through."

"Uncle..."

"It is okay, Bran, just remember what I told you..." His eyes were suddenly on her, and although Meera had no idea what he was talking about, she could feel the arms of her prince suddenly tightening around her.

She wondered if she should protest about it, to remind him that she had made an oath to see him safe and guarded.

That bitterness of her dream lingered now, the failure was cold and fresh, but the touch felt too good and she was too tired. Before long, Meera was once again sleeping under the assurance that they were fine, for now.

For now, no one else was going die.


	21. MISSANDEI

**First of all, thanks for the reviews, now I usually don't answer then if they are short and there is nothing to answer. Sorry, guys, but sometimes, I just don't know what to say besides a heartfelt thank you. Anyway,**

 **SHade: Thanks for the long review, and yes there will be more fixes, more sibling moments, more family moments, and definetly more direwolves moments. Loras and Margaery will answer some of those questions soon. XD**

* * *

 **MISSANDEI  
**

* * *

She hesitated on taking the last steps into the balcony, feeling the cold stone under her feet, and the warm breeze blowing against her skin, as the night sky seemed to take on the colors of the day. A day of dark smoke and the stink of things burning.

Bracing herself, Missandei of Naath stepped out to take in the view from atop of the great pyramid, and the battle below.

She had thought seeing the city that had caused so much suffering would satisfy her in a way, maybe in the past, in her darker nights with the cruel smile of a master taking her body, she might actually smile at it. Now though, her gaze was forlorn as it watched the bay seeming as if the water itself had turned into flames. It was as if she was choking on the dark grime, wondering if it was possible to breathe the dead conjured by her mind's eye only until the dragons roared, their song climbing high into a crescendo a three new jets of fire rained down somewhere by the harbor.

Naath had beaches too, she thought. Was I ever in one?

Beyond the walls on the field, she had heard of the presence of dothraki as well, and even from the distance she could see them, thousands of riders against the veil, moving like ant across smoking pyres and bright flames, the same ants she remembered observing back in Naath so long ago, tiny little things, so fragile, climbing atop of her hand, and then back into the ground, taking their food and their own matters into another day.

Then suddenly, she was watching another ant colony attacking the one she used to watch, thousands dying and being left over the earth, and yet, despite the sickness of her young heart, the sun still rose and the stars would still shine in the night.

Why the memory suddenly peeked through the fogs of a distant childhood, Missandei could not say, and to be honest, she didn't really dare to think about it, as a ship suddenly lit into a tower of fire and heat, climbing until the whole thing stood, crumbling slowly over the dark waters, before it sunk completely.

"Well, well, I thought you would remain in your chambers..." she didn't turn around as the dwarf stumbled to her side to peer over the parapet, a flagon of wine held precariously in his free hand. "Quite the show really, one not seen in more than a hundred years if my memory doesn't fail me, I feel almost privileged."

"This is your doing." Missandei finally managed to say, finding herself a target of his drunk gaze. "You were the one who tried to negotiate with the masters, even after Grey Worm and I tried to warn you."

The dwarf nodded, pouring himself wine again and then offered her the cup. She declined and he sipped, twirling the cup idly. "Well, you might be right I think, looking back I should've cut all of their heads, mounted them on the walls and lied scandalously about our defenses. Maybe all those armies, you know the ones I'm talking about, the mercenaries, the legions of New Ghis, Yunkai, Qarth would've all gone away at the sight of decapitated heads. Poor innocent masters, probably never saw a head without a body b..."

"Stop it!" She barked, fuming at the sight of his mirthful smirk. Rubbing her eyes and sighing to herself, Missandei wondered why she even bothered. It was clear the Lannister didn't believe her capable of much, he was a highborn, she was told, someone from a house of gold and wealth. Who was she in comparison? A woman from a distant land, who lives her life in chains. Someone to translate his wise words to the world. "You know well what I speak of, you thought yourself so clever, you thought they would be reasonable man, you thought they cared for gold..."

"In my experience..."

"Your experience means nothing." She argued, turning away from the battle. She was tired, too tired to have this conversation. She was weary, she was fearful, she was wounded at Grey Worm's absence as he manned the walls and led their armies into the fields. She didn't want to think of him though, or about Ser Barristan's little knights, dead or dying in defense of their city, or the sons of the harpy probably even now trying to sabotage their defenses. Suddenly, she didn't want to see the end either, she didn't need to, it was already decided the moment her Queen returned with smoldering violet eyes and a promise behind her words.

She left the Lannister alone to his drink and the war.

Her duties, for now, were not to know about the battle, but see to it that the children were okay, all of them. Even the sons of the important families. Hostages they were, but still, her queen had done her best for them and so Missandei did her best as well.

They were all sleeping in a huge chamber, deep in the pyramid, and she spent the rest of the evening watching over the younger ones, telling stories, and calling for meals. The older kids were more retracted though, perhaps thinking about their families, perhaps thinking of running away, but there were still guards inside, guards that discouraged them for now. Missandei hoped they wouldn't try anything for some misguided loyalty. Cruel families were still cruel families, and families of slavers were still slavers, no matter how kind or gentle one might find them.

When they had all finally gone to sleep, she found herself back in her personal chambers, using a cloth to wipe the sweat clinging to her face and taking deep breaths. The space was bigger than anything she might find appropriate, connected to her queen's own place by a drape of golden silk, which she brushed aside with the whisper of a touch.

Inside, the place was almost bare. Even after gaining her freedom, she still didn't feel the need to own anything, nothing beyond the gowns and the bed at least. Food was offered by the servants and drink as well. Jewels were something she had suffered enough in the past, forced to wear them in an unwelcome bed, or to demonstrate how powerful and wealthy her current master would be.

All things considered, Missandei didn't feel in herself any pressing need unless she counted the reminder lying under her bed. The iron collar was still as good as it had been around her neck, glinting with locks of silver, hard and hoarse.

Unlike the Lannister, she was well aware of the feelings a chain could bring, about the hunger for freedom and the choices that it brought, about the rage of countless nights alone, afraid and used by someone else, and, most important, the desperation that one could give in to if only to stay alive.

The collar was a reminder. A promise. Something for herself, to look back and know that life was a gift, one in which hope could always be found, even in the most desperate days, when she herself had felt that the collar would be there her whole life.

Even when an ant died, there would still be days at the beach, with the sand tickling her toes. The sight was strong and she could almost feel it, butterflies flying over her head, brushing their wings against the warm sun, and feeling her eyes with wonder.

Is that a real memory or a trick from the mind?

If the ants were real maybe the beach was a dream.

It was only as dawn began to break, that she felt the rubble as the great black dragon landed atop of the pyramid. Before she knew what she was doing, she was running all the way to the main chambers, giving out orders for water to be brought and a bath be prepared, only to meet a sight that was far from the queen she had met and grown to admire.

Daenerys Targaryen looked nothing like the conqueror from before. Her silvery hair was tinged with ash and coal, her skin covered in grime, while the dothraki leathers were almost falling from her body.

Most stunning though were her eyes, the bright violet was dull and weary, only punctuated by the heavy bags under them. That was something Missandei had learned earlier from her queen, that she had a fire inside her, one that burned as bright as dragon's flame, but now there was not even the smallest spark behind those eyes.

"Your grace..." She said taking a step forward, but when her queen opened her mouth, there no words leaving her lips, only a sigh and then she was falling. Missandei moved in an instant, holding her queen close to her chest.

"Fire..." she mumbled, her eyes seeking out something Missandei couldn't really see… "Fire and blood..."

"My queen..."

"A dragon doesn't plant trees..." She whispered, closing her eyes.

She didn't worry, of course, her body would seek out rest now, something she had seen happening to many slaves in the past. Instead, her eyes finally reached the city outside, to see the black smoke and still burning fires, the city of the harpy was now ash and rubble, and burned flesh. She didn't really want to know how it must be out in the streets.

Tiredly, Missandei brought her queen up to the main chambers where the bathtub was already set with warm water, the oils and perfumes all lined around the place.

As carefully as she could, she undressed Daenerys, flinching at the sight of the bruises running over her body, worst of all, the inside of her tights where the skin was raw and angry red. She didn't have a saddle, Missandei remembered, taking a washcloth and cleaning the wounds, before carefully letting the woman fall into the tub.

Her queen's face suddenly grimaced at the feeling, and then her features relaxed slightly, for which she was glad.

She was taking care of the knots and untangling her hair when Daenerys woke up again, her body growing tense until Missandei touched her shoulder. "It is all right, my queen, I've got you..."

"Missandei?"

"Yes, you seem really tired, I was just reading you for bed."

There was a moment of silence in which Missandei did nothing but hold the brush and wait. Finally, her queen settled down once more, resting her head against the edge of the tub. Taking that as permission to proceed, she got back to work, slowly and gently scrubbing and freeing the silvery locks one by one, until her queen was ready to leave the water.

She brought one of her silky shifts, and quietly held her queen's hand as she stumbled to her bed.

"My queen..."

"Wait..." She found her violet eyes on her now, while a hand that was oddly cold held her fingers. "Missandei, I burned them..."

"My queen..."

"I burned all of them, their soldiers, their siege weapons, their fleet, they're gone now, no one is ever gonna put you in chains again… No one..."

Missandei gulped, feeling out of words as she took in her queen's words. The slavers were destroyed? Good, she never really cared for them, and the idea that the world was safer was worthy almost everything, except for the sight of the delirious queen in front of her and the still etched smell in her mind.

"And I thank you, my queen… that was a very good thing to do..."

"It was, wasn't it?" Daenerys asked, her eyes growing vacant. "They wanted a dragon, and I gave them one. I tried to make peace, but no one would listen, so I burned them. They died screaming, just like I promised..."

"My queen, you should rest now, you're tired."

Daenerys nodded, quietly turning away, but still, she didn't close her eyes, neither did she let go of her hands.

"Will you talk to me?"

"About what?"

"Home..." Missandei didn't understand the request, until her queen lied her head over the pillow, almost seeming like a child instead of the breaker of chains. "I remember having a house with a red door once, there was a lemon tree outside and it was home to me, and I think it was good. Was Naath good? Will you tell me about it? Please?"

"Of course my queen."

She smiled. "Please do, Missandei, let me know there is still good in the world, something real."

Missandei thought of the beach and spoke.


	22. BRAN

**BRAN  
**

* * *

 _The things I do for love._

Winter had arrived, he knew instantly, and yet he still didn't speak, for to talk now might be upsetting. Maybe it was fate, destiny, and the gods, but Bran could feel the pull, and yet he knew the fight was not one he could win, it was too much… Far too much. Instead, he sought his balm in the past, a delay of the destiny he was warned about.

 _Promise me Ned._

He saw seven shadows move against three. He saw the winds easing in times forgotten and the silence of the last singers.

 _Hold the Door!_

He saw a white wolf mourning a dying fire and a soft pretty bird caged and hurt, its feathers falling with drops of blood, but when the cage opened it flew and howled sounding nothing like a bird.

He saw a dog, big and burned rising from a grave, while the sea crashed the land, drowning the south with waves of blood and salt. He saw the journey of another wolf, who was female, then male, and on and on to a point where there was no face at all, and the eyes were empty and numb.

 _Needle_

He saw Winterfell and blood and screams, and the flayed men covering the ground. He saw giants, and two wolves of red and white leaping, howling over stone walls and iron gates, unending fury burning against crimes long past.

 _What crimes?_

Twin towers rose in flames, but those flames never touched the castle, it touched the bodies, the mother and the sister and the baby he would never know, it touched the wolf king.

He wanted to cry, and yet he didn't. He wanted to shout and yet he couldn't, he wanted to leap in front of the daggers, and arrows but they only moved through him.

His heart leaping to his throat, he pulled back and opened his eyes, blinking and panting before the soft features of a girl, black haired and worried. He smiled softly, raising himself up to lean against the tree roots that had him in a soft embrace. Before his eyes, he saw the edge of the forest, while the small shelter she had built for them stood seeming hard and strong by the side, a thin layer of snow already covering it.

"Sorry" He said again, not for the first time. He hated to go into his visions because he hated to leave her alone all by herself. He knew she didn't like it, the solitude, but still, she merely shrugged, offering a kind smile. Over her shoulders, he realized they were alone, just at the edge of the forest. "Where is uncle Benjen?"

"He left, he said he couldn't stay for long, that he had his own mission up north."

"I see." Bran did his best to hide his disappointment.

Their last conversation had been such a tense affair, and his uncles' advice had sat bitterly down into his guts. He had hoped he could at least exchange more words, speak something meaningful, something that mattered.

Like how he missed him.

Instead he was left with a warning and a blessing.

He looked up at the sound of movement, as Meera went to tend to a small fire in front of him, throwing a few twigs and making sure the flames could breathe properly. Then, she moved to the shadowcat and started to cut some meat. Bran had warged on the beast a while ago, and he was sure they could endure a while longer, if only because he was coward.

A whine, suddenly broke through the fog of his fears, and Bran felt something heavy lying down on his lap. Summer's eyes were open and staring at him, almost like he was reprimanding his line of thought.

"I can't help it." He argued somberly, to which the direwolf's ear twitched, his tongue licking at his hand.

Sniffling, Bran let his gaze travel to the wound his friend had taken, the muscles of his left paw had been torn apart, and even if his uncle hadn't told him, Bran knew the wolf wouldn't be able to walk again, not like before.

 _Just like me._

"Bran?" He looked up, moss green eyes were gazing at him with worry, his guardian, they both were. "Are you all right?"

"Aye." He answered, forcing a smile and thinking about what he saw. "I saw wolves in Winterfell."

She stopped what she was doing, taking in his features. Bran kept smiling and waited knowing she would get his meaning. He would not tell her about the gray wolf and the lady with red eyes, that was his grief and she was already filled with it for her brother and her family so far away, he understood how it felt. For now he would leave her with good news. It worth it the moment she grinned in understanding and Bran felt his heart swelling at that.

"Does that mean we can go back?"

At that, unfortunately, his smile died. He glanced atop the woods. It was winter but the skies were clear enough, gray clouds moving from one side to the other, scattered but looming like a threat. It felt more like the last breath before the dive. Beyond that, a soft glimmer showed him the Wall beyond, like a wave of soft glass, white and gray like the sky, looming over him as the impending call of destiny. He could feel it burning, the mark on his arm becoming almost numb with cold.

He wished the Raven had told him more, he wished he had known everything before from that weirwood bowl and embraced the vision of a thousand eyes and his two.

"Talk to me Bran" He turned, and her eyes were pleading. He knew he had been holding back.

There were things to see, too much to be done, and he said as much to Meera before moving to that Tower in Dorne, and watching his father sealing the fates of mankind with a promise out of love.

Bran thought for a long time about how his brother might react, and he was afraid, he truly was. Would he lose one more piece of his family once the truth was out? Would Jon hate him? Hate them all? Hate father because of the lies? Bran wanted to know all these answers, but the future was a blur, or maybe he was the one who didn't want to see.

His deepest fears held something else within, a looming thread of fate dreadful like winter's eyes. Not like Meera's, who held a soft embrace of warm shadows. No, Winter's eyes were glowing blue and cold and terrible, and they couldn't live in the present.

"I.." His voice trailed off, suddenly, there was something solid gripping his throat, stopping his voice, and then she sighed and held something for him. He stared down at the meat and Meera followed his look, taking it away from the fire, and giving him a piece. He noticed she gave him a bigger part of the last piece, it was more nerves and tendons than meat properly but it was food. "No"

"If we're going to stay here longer, you have to eat." She chastised him, just enough that he could see the frustration behind her voice. He looked down. "Bran, you're the one that said we should wait. Castle Black is just ahead, but you told me to stay here, and you're my prince, but if that is the case, you're going to eat what I give you, end of the story."

"You don't understand" When the coil of dread tightened inside his guts, he still couldn't explain, so Meera left him the food anyway.

"You need your strength" She said simply, with a look that would accept nothing else. Bran stared at the food, feeling his stomach complaining, but he was used to the hunger right now, they both were. Meera herself was thin, the bones of her face showing more in each day, but still, she stood, as if nothing would get her down.

But she wouldn't endure this for long, neither would he. The meat was cooked, she was eating, and time was running out.

For a weirwood there was no such a thing as days, years or centuries. Sun and soil and water these are the things a weirwood understands. For men, time is a river, always in the same direction. For trees it is different, the oak is the acorn and the acorn is the oak.

The voice of the Three-Eyed Raven was raspy and deep, powerful in the edge of what should mean life for a normal man. Powerful in that he was not even man.

And how long before you're not as well? How long? How long until...

"You must go to Castle Black"

She glanced at him in confusion. "Don't you mean we?"

He looked away, but he caught sight of her lips set into a thin line. Trembling, Brandon Stark brought his fingers to his arm, rubbing the cold away to no avail, he felt her eyes locked in his gesture and licked his lips, finding the words, the right words so she wouldn't hate him. How can a man be brave when he is afraid?

"I'm the one Meera." He whispered. "I'm the one who will bring down the Wall" He could see the confusion in her eyes, but he had to keep going, otherwise he would never get a hold of himself. "It will be me, his mark on a greenseer, it will bring down the magic, the spells forged into the ice will fade, and then he will have no choice but to come. I've seen some of it, the ice spiders and wights climbing the wall, giants tearing it down, crumbling the ice. I saw the snow engulfing the Seven Kingdoms and so many dead… But I'll have to do it, sooner or later I'll have to do it, while the hero is still out there."

Meera was silent as he finished, his words felt like a bitter drink to his taste, pouring out his disgust and guilt all in a rush that left the boy panting and exhausted. "Bran, I thought… I thought we were supposed to stop him"

"We can stop him, in battle." His face fell then. It was an aching wound, open in his soul. It felt like a betrayal, like the terrible pain of lost love. "But I must be the one to start it…"

He waited then, waited for her to shout at any second, to hear her blaming him for everything, to call him the monster he was about to become. I don't wanna be. His mission pained in his heart like a set of heavy stones, dragging down his resolve.

 _How can a man be brave when he is afraid?_

A soft touch came to his hand then, and Bran squeezed back feeling her answer when she embraced him, and his tears finally let loose as he buried his head on her shoulder, freeing his heart from the burdens weighing it down. He knew they would be back later, and then his heart would be so heavy he would want to cry and sob, but for now, he let her comfort him.

"What…" Her voice whispered close to his ear. Bran felt a lump at his throat. "Bran…"

"I'm sorry..." He knows he is not apologizing just to her, and he is not apologizing just because of the Wall, but for so much more.

"Don't… I..." Her eyes darted left and right, and then they closed and Bran would give almost anything to know what she was thinking then, until a warm tongue lapped at his cheeks, turning a sob into a short laugh. "Well, I guess Summer knows better."

As the direwolf settled once more, Bran embraced him to his side. The silence now was just cold, frostbite and little death, seeping into his spirit. "Meera… I'm..."

"I swore an oath, my prince." He looks up, startled at the title. She is clearly conflicted, and yet decisive. Suddenly, he could see everything etched on her features, her grief and pain, and also the fire within, burning stubbornly even now. "What should we do?"

He turned away, caressing Summer. "Go to Castle Black, bring help. Then we need to reach Winterfell."

"Home, you mean."

Bran hesitated. "Home"

Nodding to herself, she looked around the small groove, clearly worried.

"You'll be alone here" She pointed out, he smiled sadly.

"I can protect myself here," He said as their eyes met, she was so close, and he knew he was asking more than a simple trust for the moment, he was asking for more and then she closed her eyes, seeming to battle some internal demon, until her despair disappeared and he was facing that brave girl who brought him this far.

"I'll come back" She told him in a voice strong as iron and then he knew with a hidden joy. Come what may she didn't care he was a destroyer, she was there, she was telling him she would be there and before he could stop himself he leaned forward as best as he could and his lips touched hers in a soft fearful kiss.

 _That is the only time a man can be brave._

She stood frozen in place as he ended it, the touch lasting the blink of an eye. Nervous all of a sudden he was ready to apologize until she took hold of his face and kissed him back. It was warm as Bran closed his eyes. Warm like Summer, and sweet like spring and then she was gone.

He stared at the food, feeling the lingered rush of blood to his face warming him up as it seemed like a small snow storm moved in his guts. He was darkness, deep in the shadows; he was the Three-Eyed-Raven now, of warm soil under the earth and soft whispers in the wind.

Another whiny made him look down, Summer seemed almost like a scowling mother at that moment. "What?"

The direwolf rolled his eyes, or at least Bran thought so. Sighing, he offered the meat to the wolf, who took it greedily and happily.

 _I'll protect you._ He thought. _I'll protect everyone._

Visions came to his conscience again, of a city burning green and fierce. He saw a Queen of silver hair surrounded by ghosts and fighting her own heart. He saw a lion broken and lost, running, escaping to the last desire of a heart, and to the south and far south he heard the screaming of the dead. The skies were lit in sweet moon's light and in the depths of the wood red eyes opened in a vengeful being.

Shadows moved in the sky with screeches of destruction and a broken vow brought them down to burn and burn and burn. Three heads…

He let the visions come quicker and quicker, glimpses of what was and would be. A King shouted in anger as a three mocked him from afar. A stag died in the snows at the tusks of a fierce beast. A knight of white stood tall with an ocean of dead horses at his feet. A kraken fell, pierced by a crow with only one eye, or so Bran thought until the other eye was uncovered milk pale and seeing.

When he was tired and sleepy his visions brought him back to Winterfell and its Godswood.

For a moment he thought he saw his parents, swearing vows under soft snow kisses. But just for a moment.


	23. THE KILLER

**Reviews...**

* * *

 **THE KILLER**

* * *

She met the first of them stumbling down the road, a large group of women and children. When she asked, their leader stuttered. They were fleeing the Twins, she was told, fleeing from death, a brotherhood. More came and went, some limping, others hurrying their steps, afraid. Her heart growing cold, she made her horse ride the whole afternoon, and the next morning.

She had arrived in Westeros, through Maidenpool, a city which had seen war and was now flying the crowned stag over its walls, pacified, they said, by Randyll Tarly and his men, although the number of heads over their walls made it clear what peace had meant. The warnings for wolves and trouts, nailed to posts all over the farms and fields.

She had been happy to leave that town behind, keeping away from the roads and keeps, her eyes always open to armored parties, whether they were crimson, or golden, or of no color at all. Twice strangers had tried to rob her, and twice she had given them the gift, mercy, she thought now, and also justice. They would've stolen from good people had she allowed them to go, and their deaths had been quick.

The ones fleeing were different, they ones fleeing made her squirm, doubt and long for simple answers. She tried to wonder what the Brotherhood would even want, attacking the Freys, if they could even manage such a thing, but deep down, she felt only disappointment, like something was stolen from her yet again, but in the end, she had no choice but keep moving.

At night, she settled her camp at the edge of the trident as much as possible, her meager rations sitting heavy in her guts, and while Arya would remember other meals, and another bread, No One never cared for what filled her belly, as long as it did.

Partying the old loaf with her hands, she stopped short of chewing the meal, her furs and the fire keeping her warm, as the pale flakes rained down upon the land, out of a gray night and into her hands. Despite everything, it was hard to forget the warmth of the inn, with its lower roofs, and spread out tables, with travelers and farmers trying to recover in a war-torn land.

 _Bandits to the east,_ they would whisper.

 _Crops burned._

 _Neighbors slaughtered._

 _Ser Coan watched us die, never opened his gates for us, he didn't._

 _Lord Tarly saw them dead, he did._

 _Freys came, took our harvest._

The same words, different places. She would listen and stay put, staring down into the hardwood table with spots of old beer and puke, and she was still like that when he found her, his voice a mingle of delight and surprise.

"Arry!"

"Hello, Hot Pie" Despite herself she smiled, a flimsy memory of a movement she couldn't remember properly.

"Is it really you? It has been so long!"

He sat down in front of her, balancing a tray filled with a crusty pie and something steaming inside of a bowl. She eyed everything carefully, the noises from her stomach prompting her next question. "Who is that for?" She took a piece of the pie and took a bite, it was soft, fresh, and tasted heavenly. "It's good."

Hot Pie beamed. "You think so? You see, the secret is browning the butter before making the dough. Most people don't do that 'cause it takes up too much time."

"I didn't know that..." Arya had always loved venturing in the kitchens of Winterfell, usually to steal a pie of a cake fresh out of the oven. She never asked Gage or Turnip how they made anything.

In front of her, Hot Pie was still smiling, shaking his head. "I can't believe you're here."

She stopped short of bringing the spoon to her mouth, the broth had meat in it and some very small carrots. She wondered if there would still be meat and carrots in a few months. Looking up, she smiled softly, memories of a long road, a boy with green hands and another with a bull helmet flashed before her eyes, sweet and stubborn, refusing to be forgotten. "I can't believe I'm here either."

"Listen, did you meet the big lady?"

"Big Lady?"

"The lady knight? You know, I figured she was a knight 'cause she had armor on." Hot Pie said, looking away, frowning in thought. "She was looking for your sister, but I told her about you. Did she ever find you?"

Now she could see it, a tall woman, broad-shouldered and strong, a golden lion glimmering at the hilt of her sword. "She found me."

She wondered if her lack of an answer would affect him if he would grow annoyed or irritable. She wouldn't blame him of course, despite the words spoken at the House of Black and White, she still felt lost, as if the pieces of herself were floating over a lake, trying to find each other.

"What happened to you, Arry?" The question was soft, laced with worry. She tried smiling again.

"You've got any ale?"

He blinked, pouring some into a mug. She didn't remember enjoying it that much, but she remembered the Hound not caring if she drunk it. With the food, it was actually very good as it hit her stomach.

She was actually wondering about asking for some information when the doors opened. The three men were loud and rough, their jerkins proudly exposing the twin towers in white for all to see as they dragged themselves into a corner and screamed for ale. Hot Pie rose to get to it, and stopped short, watching her.

She could feel the hilt of her sword with her bare hand, it was smooth and wary, forged by Mikken, given to her by her brother. On the corner, the men were laughing, she reached instead to her pouch, the coins dangling inside until Hot pie stopped her. "Friends don't pay."

The words sent her heart into a frenzy, her control wavering ever slightly as she looked on. Arya Stark had many friends… She was Arya Stark, that is what she told the Many-Faced God when it tried to take her away. Hot Pie was still smiling when she got up, and she stopped, feeling that he was about to say something else.

"You know, I can't believe I thought you were a boy, you're pretty."

"T-Thanks…" She was never pretty though, many things, never pretty. Underfoot, Horseface, Arry, Cat of the Canals and No One, never pretty. Sansa was pretty, but she took the words to heart anyway. He wasn't lying after all. Reaching out, she slowly touched his shoulder, it felt foreign and awkward, but she wanted the contact, she wanted him to listen, she wanted the warmth under her hand. "Take care of yourself, Hot Pie."

The three Freys had left the inn in the afternoon. They slept under the trees, telling stories about wolves, and trouts, and cheerfully drinking the beer they never paid for. They didn't wake up again.

Now, she sharpened her weapons as she came closer to her goals, the smile of a friend forgotten, the memories buried once more because Arya Stark would have no place in what came next. Arya Stark was still a little girl, crying and suffering, she needed to be something else, just for a while. She needed to keep the pieces close and distant, for a few moments, for her family, to make a wrong into a right she had to be No One.

She had planned the moment many times in her head, the way she would sneak inside, dress like a servant, move around the hallways and kitchens, taking the names of each and every Frey she could find. She had everything planned too, poison would be the quicker, but she might be able to catch some in their chambers. It would be justice, for Robb and for Mother, for the men who stood outside those walls in peace and received a sword to the guts in return.

The first thing that hit her was the scent, blood, and rotten flesh, making her choke on bile before bringing her furs up to her nose while the first corpses became visible. Three of them greeted her, hanging from the open gates with no eyes or tongue, a feast for the crows who huddled around the spilled guts like the hungry children from King's Landing around a pigeon.

On the courtyard they were piled together, stripped and dead, bodies from men, young or old, women as well, it didn't seem to matter as they were all frozen in horror.

Breathing through her mouth, Arya finally allowed herself to see. Syrio always told her to see, instead of looking, and she did so. Most corpses couldn't tell her much, but finally, she came upon a man whose face was intact, and whose angry red eyes told her enough. Poison, a rather common one as well, but mortal depending on how it was ingested.

 _They deserved this._ A stubborn part of her claimed, but it was becoming more like a whisper now.

She thought of their names like a curse, the ones she guessed this did belong to. Lord Beric, and Thoros of Myr. Tom of Sevens, Harwin and Anguy. Lem Lemoncloak and Ned Dayne.

 _They deserved this._

Gulping, Arya finally allowed herself to move inside, curiosity dragging her feet through long empty hallways. The torches had been long extinguished, but she had learned to find her path in the darkness, the faint sunlight helping her find the great hall.

Back at the House of Black and White, death was a gift. It was peace brought upon quickly and without pain, even to those whose death had been bought and paid for. Even when she was cleaning the, running the cloth over the pale skin, and wrinkling her nose under the stink, she was always fascinated by their faces, all of them seeming at peace in their passing.

This was different.

Everywhere she looked, dark feathers seemed to paint the faint light coming through the windows, bathing the stones covered in blood, revealing corpses long dead and nailed to the seats on a long-winded feast.

The Old Man's head was lying atop of the table, its mouth and eyes open in horror, while his body rested headless and gutless around it. Some men were dining around it, their bodies hacked to pieces as they sat motionless and frozen in agony, a woman was shouting with her throat cut, a man dressed in black was completely bare on the groin, but his cup was full, as Arya looked inside, the liquid had long turned pale in clear sign of the poison used. Suddenly, she remembering those people fleeing south and wondered. Had they been let go? Or had they fled the slaughter?

Her question was left unanswered at the sudden alarm that hit her. It was as if her whole body screamed at her to move, and yet she could help but turn her head, to the shadows covering the back of the hall and empty dais. And then the high seat called to her eyes, where she could see a shape, a moving one, not dead at all.

Her first instinct was to step back, her hand clutching the hilt of her sword. Forged by Mikken, given by Jon. Winterfell. Needle was Winterfell.

 _Not today._ She thought, when her presence was finally noticed, the hood moving in her direction.

"Who are you?" Arya asked, swallowing the thick lump lodged inside her throat. "Who are you? Did you do this? Was it you?"

The shape didn't move, it completely stopped, but Arya could feel the gaze, her gaze. It was a woman, her hands stopping the movements of playing with a thick bronze circle, crowned with gray swords. A crown that clattered loudly on the floor, rising the crows from the feast, their feathers flapping wildly as they fled the angry noise. Leaving behind a woman's head that was only bone and nerves.

The voice that spoke was a mumble, hoarse and tired, but it reverberated across the hall, like a screeching ghost.

 _Justice._

Arya blinked, the scene closing around, the air growing thick, struggling down her throat while something heavy and tight drummed against her chest. _Justice_. She looked to the heads, the pale eyes where there were eyes left. _Justice._ The woman rose, slowly, as if testing her own legs, and Arya unsheathed her blade. "Stop! Don't come closer."

The stranger paid her no heed, walking around the table, her skirts brushing over the pools of dried blood, the cloth itself splattered with it, so it was actually an angry dark color over the pale blue. Arya could see bits of white hair coming out of the hood, with red and crimson peppered around it, she saw a mouth of pale lips but under it there was the red gash of a cut from which no one should live through.

"Who are you?" Arya whispered again, her hands trembling

When a cold hand reached her, gently, imploringly, the red eyes that gazed down at her felt worst than all the cuts she had suffered before, from the wrenching pierce of Grey Wind's death, to the horrible Valyrian steel falling on her father's neck. The wind was knocked away from her as Arya gazed upon the visage of Lady Catelyn Stark.

Suddenly she was a child again, patiently watching as her mother's face shifted from angry to resigned, her lips pressed together as she took her out of dirty breeches.

"I swear, I gave birth to four sons instead of three." She would say, exasperate, however, as much as her disappointment hurt, she could still feel the gentle touch rubbing her cheek, the love on her eyes, blue eyes not this, not this, not this…

The sound she made, she was not sure it was sound, she wanted to call her, but the face was pale, terrible and angry, and there was no blue on her eyes, nothing at all. "Mama..."

Screaming, Arya stepped back, her foot caught something and she tumbled down, feeling the hard cold ground and sticky red on her back. Quick as a cat, she rolled and put herself on her feet. Suddenly, the hall was no hall, it was death, all around her, terrible, unforgiving, not the gift of the many faced god, but the anger and wrath of something else.

 _Mama._

She run

The woods were thick and dark when she finally raced past them, night had fallen at some point and the stinging behind her eyes had long turned into tears as she felt the grass between her fingers, her lungs burning with the searing pain of a crumbling world. That was her, it couldn't be, Arya wouldn't admit it. Her mother would never… _I would never…_

And then, there nothing to do but let the sobs come.

She wasn't no one, she wasn't Arry, she wasn't justice, she was a little girl, wishing to be home.

Then came the soft steps over the grass, and the warm breath. She was big, dark gray, and held in her eyes something like pity.

A Direwolf, she was.


End file.
